Issue
by Jules-foil
Summary: AU Begins between Cursed and Control. During his visit, Chase and his father had a huge fight. House wants details. Chase wants privacy. And Vogler’s arrival is making everything more complicated. Standard Disclaimer.
1. Chapter 1

"House, honestly," Wilson pleaded for maybe the third time in a week. "If you want to know what happened so bad, why don't you just ask him?"

"I did ask!" House said. He was sitting on the edge of Wilson's desk, shuffling the papers his friend was trying to fill out and file. "He denied it."

"Did you really ask," Wilson countered. "Or did you antagonize him and try to provoke him into letting something slip?"

"I'm the one who taught him to lie," House complained. "He's turning my own sneakiness against me. It's unnatural."

"Or maybe it's just private," Wilson said. He snapped the page out of House's hand, signed it, and put it away before House could steal it again.

"Chase works for me," House said. "Privacy is not included in his benefits package."

"I'm pretty sure that one's guaranteed under the Constitution," Wilson said. "Fourth amendment or something."

"He's a permanent resident, not a citizen," House pouted. "The Constitution doesn't apply to him."

"So he had a fight with his father," Wilson sighed and pinched his nose. He was getting kind of tired of this. Rowan Chase had long since gone back to Australia, and frankly he thought they had bigger problems than spying on Chase to satisfy House's curiosity: namely Vogler. "What's the big deal? You don't get along with your parents either, if I recall. Should I give Chase their number in case he wants to find out why?"

"You don't have their real number. I gave you a fake," House told him. Wilson just rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Okay," Wilson said. "Let's assume you're right. Chase is hiding some deep dark family secret. Why do you need to know it? What, you think you're going to stage some great reconciliation between him and his father within the next three months? I thought you didn't believe in deathbed conversions." House sneered and deliberately dribbled ink from one of Wilson's fountain pens over an insurance form. It didn't damper Wilson's grin. "Dr. House, have you been an idealist in cynic's clothing all this time?"

"It could be that," House shrugged. "Or I could just be looking for blackmail and torment opportunities. I can only call him British so many times, you know."

"House, can we check your priorities please?" Wilson begged. "I'm not sure you realize just how precarious your situation is." House put on a scared face and pretended to shudder. "Vogler is already gunning for you. He thinks you're a financial drain."

"Maybe," House said. "But I'm a drain with tenure."

"Well, as the new Chairman of the Board with $100 million backing him, Vogler may have what it takes to break that tenure," Wilson said. "It may take a unanimous vote, and you know I'll take up for you, but all that means is that Vogler will be looking to get rid of me too. Unless you give him a reason not to. So maybe imposing in Chase's personal life can wait?"

House's smirk fell. He hadn't really considered that he was risking Wilson's job along with his own when he antagonized the new Chairman. But, damn it, he wanted to know!

The gossip had started after some of the ER staff witnessed an altercation between the Chases during their cigarette break. The father and son had been on the other side of the parking lot – too far to hear – but the discussion was obviously heated. Apparently, Chase tried to get in his car to leave, but Rowan grabbed his arm, pulled him bodily away from the car, and shouted at him. Chase responded in kind, pushed him away, climbed into his car, and tore off. The next day, both men acted like nothing happened. Now, with Rowan gone and Chase apparently back to normal, most people forgot the rumors. House didn't; he wanted to know what could rile such a stoic as Chase. He was sure Chase didn't know that Rowan was dying, so what was it?

"Okay, fine," House begrudgingly agreed. "Vogler is priority."

"Good," Wilson smiled.

"But Chase is readily available, so I still get to pry," House added on his way out of Wilson's office. Speaking of which, he should probably check in with the flock and see how their latest case was wrapping up.

It was a little girl, Maria Stanza. Her symptoms seemed straight forward: fatigue, weakness, weight loss, abdominal pains, shallow breathing, swollen lymph nodes and anemia. It was all pointing to leukemia, so she'd been passed to Oncology. Only Wilson passed her right along to Diagnostics when she turned out to be cancer-free. The little girl was fading fast, so he'd split his team up. Foreman was working the lab. Cameron was probing the mother for information. And Chase had been sent to their house to look for possible sources of infection or poison, depending on what the tests told Foreman.

So House was a little disgruntled when he saw Chase in the hallway on his way to the conference room. Chase picked up the pace when he spotted his boss. House folded his arms and prepared to berate Chase for whatever lame explanation he came up with for disobeying his instructions.

"Why am I looking at you?" House demanded. "You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be at the kid's house so Foreman can send you on a scavenger hunt. What, you don't want to play with us anymore?"

"Game's over," Chase snarled. "We need to call the police." House raised his eyebrows and unfolded his arms. "I know what Foreman's going to find. Maria has mercury poisoning."

House quickly ran over the symptoms in his head. It certainly fit. In fact, it had been one of the initial suggestions during differential diagnoses when leukemia was ruled out. "Okay, let's assume you're right," House allowed. "So Maria got into some fungicide or disinfectants." Those were the most likely sources in a suburban household. "I don't think an accident constitutes criminal neglect."

"Maybe not," Chase said. "But if the mother was deliberately exposing her to it, that constitutes attempted murder."

House opened the door to the office and pulled Chase inside. Accusations like that were best not made in an open hallway. Chase started pacing and running his hand through his hair. Normally House would have teased him, asking who he was trying to impress with his golden tresses or something, but Chase was too agitated and his suspicions too serious for it to be amusing.

"I found three broken thermometers in the waste baskets," Chase explained. "I think Maria's mother has been using the mercury to poison her, probably for a while now."

Cameron had pulled the girl's school records, and she was absent a lot. Also, the school nurse was the one to call an ambulance when Maria collapsed during recess. If mercury poisoning was responsible for the serious symptoms the child was showing, she would have been sick for a while. The mother should have taken her to a doctor long ago.

"All right, Detective Chase," House folded his arms. "Do you have a motive?"

"I don't know," Chase said. He was getting more irritable. The pacing was getting on House's nerves. He pushed out a chair for Chase to sit in, but Chase ignored it. "I also don't care. She's killing her daughter! We need to start Maria on chelation therapy and call the police. I didn't touch anything in the house, so they'll find plenty of evidence."

"Assuming the concerned, attentive, hard-working, single mother is in fact poisoning her own child," House said. "How do you know the worried mom didn't just break the thermometer while taking her daughter's temperature?"

"Three times?" Chase argued. "Besides, they had a digital one in the medicine cabinet, not new. And since when do you believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt?"

The office phone rang. House put it on speaker phone. It was Foreman calling from the lab.

"I've found the problem," Foreman announced. "Call Chase and tell him to look for sources of…"

"Mercury?" House interrupted. Chase folded his arms and glared impatiently.

"How'd you know that?" Foreman asked.

"We already found the source," House nodded to Chase. Chase whipped out his cell phone and dialed the police. "Start Maria on a chelating agent and have security detain Mommy Dearest."

He hung up before Foreman could question him and leaned against the windowsill while Chase spoke to the police. Chase finished quickly.

"They're going to contact DYFS and search the house," he said. "A social worker will come to take care of Maria. They'll need to talk to Foreman."

"Foreman?" House repeated.

"Well, I can't very well tell them I got suspicious during a B&E, now can I?" Chase replied. House nodded and shrugged; it was a good point. "Foreman can tell them Maria tested positive for mercury and you can explain why the circumstances were suspicious."

It was a solid plan, so House and Chase both went to check in with the rest of the team. The four of them caught up halfway to Maria's room. Cameron was fuming and Foreman was frowning with disapproval.

"Why did you call security on Ms. Stanza?" Cameron demanded of Foreman. "That poor woman is hysterical!"

"Hey, talk to him!" Foreman pointed at House. "Why did we call security, anyway? Mercury poisoning could easily have been accidental. Don't you think we're jumping to conclusions?"

"No," Chase snapped. "We're not. A kid was poisoned. It looked suspicious. So we call the police. Or did they repeal the mandatory reporting statutes? If there's an explanation, let the authorities find it. Ms. Stanza isn't our responsibility; her daughter is."

"What he said," House agreed, but he was scrutinizing Chase. Usually it was Cameron getting all worked up on behalf of the patient. If anything, Chase was more like him, detached. House felt another piece of the puzzle taking shape. "Foreman, you and I are going to talk to the police. Make sure you're clear on how much mercury the kid would have to be exposed to, to develop this level of toxicity. Cameron, Chase, you two run a few more tests; see if you can't find evidence of prolonged exposure."

"We'll start with her mouth," Chase said. "If the mother was poisoning her, she was probably putting it in her food. Might be some sign."

"Go find out," House shooed him away.

Ms. Stanza had already been taken to the security office, so Chase and Cameron were able to examine Maria without a scene. There two sores on the back of her soft palate and a raw throat. A body MRI revealed further irritation to the esophagus and stomach. Chase did the examination himself, but he sent Cameron to House with the results while he took Maria back to her room. A social worker was already there. Chase briefed her quickly about the tests he'd just run and their implications and told her to talk to his supervisor for further details.

He rejoined the rest of the team in the conference room. Cameron was poring coffee for herself. Foreman and House already had theirs. She offered the cup to Chase when he came in, but he waved her off.

"Good call, Chase," Foreman praised when he came in. "Apparently Ms. Stanza broke down and all but confessed as soon as she saw a cop."

"Poisoning her own baby," Cameron shook her head. "What are we thinking, Munchausen's?"

"Do we care?" Chase scoffed. Cameron frowned at him. "Are we caring why she did it? It's done!"

"Well, at least Maria's safe now," Cameron said.

"Right," Chase said. His stomach was starting to lurch in a familiar way. He was stressing about this too much, but he couldn't let it go either. "I'm sure foster care will be a real step forward for her."

"Hey," Foreman objected. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Chase sighed. He ran a hand over his face and wiped the excess moisture on his lab coat. "If you don't need me here, I'm heading down to ICU." He walked out before anyone could contradict his plan.

"Has anyone else noticed how his accent gets thicker when he's bullshitting?" House said.

"So he's a little rattled," Foreman shrugged. "Come on, that was a pretty sick situation."

"Sickness?" House gasped. "In a hospital? No! How can it be?" Foreman sighed irritably and crossed his arms. "Chase isn't a novice. He's seen plenty of nasty cases without breaking a sweat." He frowned, then shrugged dismissively and turned to the remaining two. "Well, I'm sure there's plenty of work somewhere for you to do and for me to avoid. Go amuse yourselves." Cameron and Foreman shared an exasperated glance on their way out.

House had promised Wilson that he'd only pursue his curiosity about Chase while the youngest duckling was in line and readily available. So he figured he'd better get after him quickly before he reached the ICU and became unavailable. Unfortunately, when he reached ICU Chase hadn't signed in yet. Where could he be? House considered Chase's behavior today. Perspiring, short tempered, his hand had gone to his stomach more than once…House checked the men's room between Diagnostics and ICU and sure enough there was Chase doubled over and clutching the back of a toilet.

"Get lost?" House asked.

"Wish you would," Chase managed before he started heaving. The water in the bowl splashed as he vomited violently. House glanced over his shoulder and frowned slightly at the excessive amount of red. The second retch brought up less, but it was almost all blood.

"Great," House sighed. This was so inconvenient. He might have to do without Chase's contributions for weeks if this turned out to be serious. If it was a severe stomach flu or something that Chase could have taken care of it earlier, House was going to kill him. As it was, he leaned his head out into the hallway and told a passing nurse to sign Dr. Chase in as a clinic patient. That way he could pass off harassing Chase as doing clinic hours. Chase finished hurling and was heading for the door. House stepped in front of him. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"I need to go home," Chase said weakly. He was sweating even more and shaking a little.

"Right," House said. "Cause that's what you'd do if one of your patients suddenly started barfing up blood, send them home."

"I'm not a patient," Chase objected. He tried to circumvent his boss, but House blocked him again with his arm. "And I don't think Dr. Cuddy would like it if I stay here and start vomiting all over the real patients. It won't help hospital's reputation."

"So aim for Vogler if you see him," House suggested. Chase glanced behind him, under the bathroom stalls, to make sure nobody – specifically Vogler - had heard that. For better or worse, though, he and House were alone. House took Chase by the arm with his free hand and started pulling. "Come on, be a good sport. You can sign into the clinic and get a lead on your hours." If it worked for him, why not for Chase? "Cuddy just says you have to be there. She never said it couldn't be as a patient."

"I don't need the clinic," Chase insisted. He pulled his arm away and nearly fell over for his trouble. "I need a cab. I can't drive like this and I need to get home."

"Dr. House?" The nurse had returned and was looking anxiously at Chase. "Dr. Chase is signed in. Should I help him to an exam room?"

"Go get a gurney," House ordered. He watched Chase continue to sway on his feet. He was still sweating profusely and clearly in a great deal of pain. And he had thrown up a fairly substantial amount of blood.

"I want to go home," Chase objected. "I don't need…oh…" Chase collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach. He struggled to get up for a moment before passing out completely. House just watched. Chase was a doctor. If he couldn't figure out for himself that he ought to be sitting down with his symptoms, why should House waste his breath telling him? Besides, Chase was much more compliant while unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

When Chase groaned his way back to consciousness, he was lying in a hospital bed. His stomach was feeling much better, but the rest of his was severely annoyed. He glanced around the room for his clothes and saw House talking to Cameron through the glass partition. He quickly lay back down and pretended to sleep, hoping they'd go away so he could escape, but his movement caught House's eye and they both came in.

"How long have I been out?" Chase asked. "What time is it?"

"Seven o'clock," House said.

"What?" Chase gasped. "I shouldn't have been out that long."

"Well, the sedative I gave you might have had something to do with that," House shrugged. Chase glared furiously, but House was decidedly unrepentant. "Doctors are the worst patients, and you're easier to deal with from dreamland."

"I have to get home," Chase said. He tried to get out of bed, but House pushed him back down, with embarrassingly little effort.

"How are you feeling, Chase?" Cameron asked. "House said you collapsed?"

"Apparently," Chase nodded. "But I'm fine now. I just need to get home."

"Witness the dangers of self-diagnosis," House said. He held up an x-ray that he'd had done of Chase while he was still out of it. "If you were talking about a patient instead of yourself, you might realize that passing out and throwing up copious amounts of blood are not symptoms of being fine. The fact is, you…"

"Have an ulcer," Chase interrupted. "I know."

"You know?" House repeated with a frown. "How long have you known?"

"Couple months," Chase shrugged. He'd gone through the clinic when he started having stomach problems, after making sure House had already completed his required hours for that week. "I have my medication at home, so I'll just…"

"Keep your ass in bed until I say otherwise," House said.

"You're my boss, not my doctor," Chase argued.

"Actually, I'm both, as of two hours ago," House gloated. Chase and Cameron both frowned at him. "I looked through your file to find the name of your primary physician, but you didn't have anyone listed. Very irresponsible and completely unacceptable considering your own occupation and condition. So I took the liberty of filling in my own name."

"It better be in pencil," Chase snarled.

"Permanent marker," House smirked. "All I had on me."

"Then I'm signing myself out AMA," Chase said.

"Don't make me put you on suicide watch," House threatened.

"Chase, why didn't you tell any of us you have an ulcer?" Cameron intervened.

"Why would I?" Chase said, getting very exasperated. Cameron looked affronted, almost hurt by his answer. "All right, look, I appreciate your concern, but it's under control. And I really need to go home. Where are my clothes?"

"Don't tell him," House ordered when Cameron started to answer. "He can't leave without pants."

"I need my phone," Chase insisted.

"What you need is to get your head out of your ass and start thinking like the doctor you supposedly are," House snapped. "You have a gastric ulcer, which you've been treating for two months. And yet today, it caused you to throw up almost a pint of blood before knocking you on your ass. What does that tell you?" Chase scowled, but he was also a bit worried. He knew what House was getting at. "You have a bleeding ulcer. If it hasn't perforated already, it will soon. But either way, you're not going anywhere. You need surgery. So quit acting stupid."

Chase sighed, and folded his hands over his mouth. "Okay," he conceded. "Okay, but I still need to go home." House threw up his hands and groaned. "If I'm going to need surgery I have some things to take care of first. Let's schedule me in for Wednesday."

"I want you in surgery now, not two days from now," House objected.

"If I throw up again or if my stomach starts to hurt like it did, I'll call an ambo and be right back here," Chase said. "I promise."

"All right," House reluctantly agreed. "Wednesday morning. Obscenely early, Wednesday morning. And you can plan on being an in-patient." He turned to Cameron. "Get the moron a cab, would you? I don't trust him not to try driving himself." Then he left to schedule Chase's surgery.

"He is so not staying my doctor," Chase said. "So, where are my clothes?"

Cameron got them for him and pulled the curtain so he could change. Once he was dressed she borrowed his cell phone to call him a cab. Then she walked him down to the lobby and waited with him.

"You don't have to stay, you know," Chase offered. "I'm sure you want to get home yourself."

"I don't mind," Cameron said. "So, how'd you get yourself an ulcer?"

"Helicobacter infection," Chase recited. Cameron raised an eyebrow at him. "Other than that, who knows?" Chase's cab pulled up to the curb. "Okay, see you Wednesday I guess. But don't be afraid to call me tomorrow if you guys need me for something. I'll have my cell."

"Take it easy," Cameron said.

"I will," Chase smiled. "No worries."

Cameron waved him off and went to her car. She tried not to think about how much thicker Chase's accent had been just then.


	3. Chapter 3

House was a bit thrown the next morning when he was first to arrive. Chase, at least, was always there before him, usually with at least one of the others accounted for as well. But apparently everyone was slacking today. Fortunately, Wilson came up to see him so his boredom was staved for a while. Wilson noted the conspicuous absences as well. House bemoaned the uselessness of Foreman and Cameron and then explained what had happened to Chase the day before.

"He never said a word," House complained. "You know how long he's had an ulcer? Two months! Not a word to me. Idiot." Wilson pulled his lips tight into his mouth and folded his hands behind his back. House narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Wilson sighed and braced himself. "I knew that," Wilson said quickly. "About Chase's ulcer, I mean. I was in the clinic when he came down. He said he didn't want this on the record, so we went to my office. I checked him out and wrote him a prescription."

"You knew?" House ranted. "And you didn't tell me!"

"Hello," Wilson said defensively. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, HIPAA, any of this sounding familiar? Besides, Chase specifically asked me not to mention it to you."

"As if I give a rat's ass what Chase wants," House snapped.

"Well, that's the problem isn't it?" Wilson smirked. "Maybe if you were a little more supportive, you wouldn't have given Chase an ulcer."

"Who said I caused his ulcer?" House objected. "I didn't give him an ulcer."

"Oh please," Wilson said. "He's made it with you longer than anyone else. And that in spite of the fact that you don't respect him, you go out of your way to make things difficult for him, and just generally treat him like trash. Come on, House! You're the diagnostician, so you tell me. What else could be eating his guts away?"

"Stress from reuniting with his father?" House suggested.

"Rowan was here less than two weeks ago," Wilson shook his head. "And Chase didn't know he was coming. I saw him two months ago, and God only knows how long he'd been trying to tough it out before that."

"You know, the idea that ulcers are caused by stress is scientifically unsound," House grumbled. He didn't want to be responsible for Chase's ulcer. He liked tormenting Chase! He didn't want to have to stop. Then again, Chase had always handled his jibes much better than the other two. He didn't seem to need House's approval and recognition the way his fellows did. And he rarely got hurt or insulted by House's mockery. He just let it slide right off or sometimes even laughed along! It was actually a bit annoying. The only time he ever really got a rise out of Chase was when he'd legitimately crossed a line, and then it wasn't as funny as it might have been. But if it wasn't House, despite Wilson's assertions, what had his Aussie wound so tight? "I wonder if this has anything to do with why he and his dad were fighting."

"Oh, not this again!" Wilson groaned. "You know, this is probably why Chase didn't want me to tell you in the first place."

"Hey, I'm his supervisor. I'm responsible for him," House insisted. "If there's something going on that's endangering his health, I need to know about it."

"That's good." Wilson shook his finger at him. "Remember that one when Chase reports you for misconduct."

House leaned back in his chair, popped his morning Vicodin, and started plotting. He glanced up with gleaming eyes when Foreman arrived.

"Where have you been?" House demanded. He glanced at the clock and was genuinely surprised at how late Foreman was. And Cameron still wasn't there at all.

"Vogler wanted to talk to us," Foreman said. "Cameron is with him now, just so you know. And he's looking for Chase. Where is he, anyway?"

"Sick," House explained. He stifled his grin. He'd almost forgotten that Foreman was still unaware of Chase's condition. That made him a perfect patsy. "He put a hole in his stomach."

"Chase has an ulcer?" Foreman frowned.

"Having surgery to fix it tomorrow," House nodded. "Only trouble is, we don't know what caused it." Wilson frowned at House and folded his arms, but he didn't intervene. "So we can't say for sure if it'll happen again."

"Well, what's his doctor say?" Foreman asked.

"I say, I don't know what caused it so I'm not sure how to stop it from happening again," House said. "Dr. Wilson here wrote him a prescription out of the clinic a few months ago, but didn't bother updating Chase's file. I'm so telling Cuddy on you, by the way."

Chase's medical records were actually incredibly frustrating in their lack of information. What was there only served to make it clear how much was missing, hints and clues at unreported incidents. There were months, even years at a time where, as far as the documentation was concerned, Chase just dropped off the face of the earth. If House had to guess, he would say that Rowan Chase had treated his son himself when Chase was younger and once Chase became a doctor he did the same for himself. Probably why he never bothered to get himself a real physician. Moron. Even House had a physician, even if he never went to see him.

"Since when are you Chase's doctor?" Foreman guffawed.

"Since I found out he didn't have one," House shrugged. He knew Chase would probably try to dismiss him as soon as he was able, which was why he had Chase's file hidden in his apartment. He wasn't going to release Chase as his patient until he was satisfied that he'd been replaced with someone competent. "He needed a primary to recommend surgery while he still has a stomach."

"Guess Vogler's going to have to wait, then," Foreman said. "So do we have a new case yet?"

"No, but you have an errand," House said. "I was going to send Cameron, but she'd get distracted with the nurturing and the sympathy. This works better. Go see Chase. Find out what medications he's been prescribed, what he's actually taking, and look out for any clues for what the underlying problem might be."

"Why don't we just call Chase and ask him?" Foreman said.

"Because he'll lie," House stated. "He didn't even mention having an ulcer. Do you really think he'll admit it if he's doing more stupid stuff? Like not taking his meds regularly? Or stocking his shelves with cayenne? No. I need facts, witnesses! So go visit your sick colleague."

"You mean go spy on my sick colleague," Foreman grumbled. "If Chase gets cranky, I'm blaming you."

"Because Goldilocks is so intimidating," House rolled his eyes. He logged onto his computer, printed out Chase's address, and handed it to Foreman. "Go. But don't take too long. We're already short-staffed."

Foreman sighed and shook his head. Like he was the one who wanted to spy on Chase! Still, with a dry period between cases and Cameron too busy with Vogler to run interference, he supposed checking up on a colleague was better than having House harass him until he caved in and did it anyway. So he went back out to his car and drove to Chase's condo. Fortunately, he lived close to the hospital. It was a brick building with a tower on the corner. The first floor was divided into a lobby and a small café in the rotund space of the tower. Foreman stopped in for a cup of coffee before heading for the iron-gated elevator. He was stopped by a doorman in a blue uniform with wire glasses and sandy brown hair sitting at a desk beside the lift.

"I'm here for Dr. Robert Chase," Foreman said. He pulled out his ID badge from the hospital. "I'm a colleague from Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Oh yes, of course," the doorman nodded. "Is Dr. Chase expecting you?"

"Uh, he should be," Foreman fibbed. "Our boss was going to call him and let him know I was coming. We need a few details from him regarding a procedure scheduled for tomorrow. I just stopped by to see if he has the file on him."

"All right, then," the doorman agreed and nodded Foreman toward the elevator. "Have a good day."

Foreman smiled and waved as he stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed he leaned against the wall and exhaled in relief. He hoped Chase would be as pleasant about his intrusion. He rode up to the fourth floor and stepped out into an entry way. Apparently this building only had two apartments per floor, one on each side of the hallway.

"Let's see," Foreman double-checked Chase's address. It indicated the unit on the left. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing. This was ridiculous. Chase was probably sleeping, as well he should be. Foreman considered going back to the hospital and letting the guy rest, but worried that House would just send him back. So he pulled out his cell phone and called the office.

"You know, if you're spying on someone it's usually not a good idea to report your findings right in front of them," House said instead of 'hello.'

"I'm not spying on him," Foreman said. "I'm not even in the apartment. There's no answer at the door. He's probably asleep."

"Even better," House said. "If he's knocked out on meds, you can snoop without restraint. Get in there."

"You want me to break into Chase's apartment?" Foreman hissed.

"Don't get righteous on me," House sneered. "You don't have a problem breaking into strangers' homes."

"That's because patients aren't in their homes when I break into them," Foreman argued. "Chase might be in there."

"He'd damn well better be," House growled. If he wasn't, House was going to call the police and report Chase's car stolen so they'd track him down. "So what? You said yourself, he's asleep."

"I said he's probably asleep," Foreman argued. "If he's not, I don't think he's going to be happy…"

"What in our history makes you think I'm at all interested in preserving Chase's happiness?" House said. "If he gets pissy, just tell him we took another look at his MRI and his ulcer may have already perforated. Then you can drag his ass back to the hospital where he's supposed to be. Now get in there! And don't come back until you find me something." Then he hung up.

"Son of a bitch," Foreman growled. He looked checked to make sure the hallway was clear, pulled out the small screwdriver set he'd started bringing to work, and hoped Chase wasn't too big into private security.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Foreman did upon entering Chase's apartment was find the bathroom. He'd split his hand pretty badly prying open the deadbolt and he was getting blood on his white shirt. He grumbled and cursed softly as he raided the medicine cabinet for some antiseptic and bandages. Working for House should have come with hazard pay.

In addition to the first-aid kid, Chase's medicine cabinet was also full of bottles, both prescription and over-the-counter. He had several vitamin and mineral supplements: magnesium, iron, fluoride, A, B, and D. There were several antacids along with the prescriptions Wilson had written for omeprazole, misoprostol, and antibiotics. Foreman checked the date and amount of each prescription and was relieved that Chase appeared to be complying with treatment. There was one less thing to piss House off. But there was one more pill bottle that caught Foreman's eye before he shut the cabinet. It was another prescription, but not from Wilson. It was a low dose of Lexapro. Chase was on antidepressants? The prescription was dated back about four months, but when Foreman opened the bottle it was still full. So much for compliance.

Foreman closed the medicine cabinet and took a look at the rest of the bathroom. It had dark marble counters and tile floor. The sink was copper. There was no bathtub, only a shower with a glass frame and both head and body sprays. Two doors opened through opposite walls. One Foreman had just come through, so he carefully peeked through the other one.

It led to the master bedroom. This part of the condo took up the tower space, with the wall to the left of the bathroom door was curved with three broad windows creating a sort of alcove. A chocolate brown leather chair was in the alcove and under several books, magazines, and newspapers. On the flat wall across from the bathroom door was a king-size bed with Chase cocooned in white sheets and navy blue covers. His shirt from the day before was crumpled up on the pine wood floor next to his shoes. There was a large bookshelf across from the chair, filled with books, CDs, and a couple of photographs that Foreman couldn't make out from his angle. There were two other doors in the room, presumably leading out into the apartment and to Chase's closet. That was all Foreman could see from the bathroom doorway, and he wouldn't go in any further and risk rousing Chase. He went to check out the rest of the place as quickly as he could.

Further into the condo was the main door to Chase's bedroom, which Foreman softly closed before he continued his investigation. To his left the space opened into a large kitchen. It had stainless appliances, the same pine floor as the rest of the unit, and brown-granite countertops on the main counter and an island with the oven underneath. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack in the ceiling. The counter extended into a bar, complete with backed stools, setting the kitchen apart.

The refrigerator and pantries were well stocked. There were a few more spices than a person with an ulcer should have, but maybe Chase hadn't used them in a while. One thing Foreman couldn't ignore was the complete lack of alcohol. He remembered Chase's anxiety over the patient who'd appeared to be an alcoholic, and was suddenly even more uncomfortable than he'd been. That was the closest Chase had ever come to sharing something personal with him. Now in his reticent colleague's space, it felt like Foreman was violating something. He wanted to get out of there, but there was one more room to search.

The rest of the space was an open living room with two more large windows. A flat television hung on the wall separating the living room from the bedroom, surrounded by an impressive sound system. There was a couch, sofa, and easy chair, all black leather, and a long Blackwood coffee table.

All in all, Chase's apartment was quite a surprise. It was very nice, true enough, but not nearly as extravagant or affluent as Foreman had expected. In fact, Foreman's own place was a lot bigger. Also, Chase had a few keepsakes around the place, a couple art pieces on the walls, but most appeared to be from back Down Under. It was as if Chase stopped accumulating things when he left Australia for America. Even with the lack of material possessions, though, Chase was a bit of a slob; no cleaning service. But as interesting as Foreman found these discoveries, he didn't think it was what House was looking for.

Unfortunately, the only thing left to search was the laptop computer sitting on the coffee table. But that was where Foreman drew the line. He already felt bad enough for snooping in Chase's personal space; going on his computer was too much of an invasion of privacy. He was about to go back to work and tell House what little he could, when he noticed a business card tucked underneath the computer. His own curiosity got a hold of him and he picked it up: Dr. Kenneth Noel, M.D.

"What the hell…" Foreman mumbled. House said Chase didn't have a doctor! Foreman didn't like being sent to spy, but being sent to spy under false pretenses was even worse. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed House's office.

Back at the hospital, House was waiting impatiently for Foreman to return with his report. Wilson was waiting with him because House refused to let him leave. He was still angry with him for hiding Chase's condition, and wanted to keep him close in case something else went wrong that Wilson could be made to feel guilty about. When the phone rang, House put it on speaker.

"House," he announced.

"It's me," Foreman whispered over his end.

"What did I tell you about calling me from inside the crime scene?" House said.

"Forget that," Foreman said. "In fact, you can forget all of this. From now on, if you want to spy on Chase, you're on your own."

"That means you found something," House deduced. "Give it up."

"What I found is that you're a liar with no respect for medical ethics," Foreman hissed. "Not that this is news to me. But I'm not breaking any more laws just for your amusement."

"What are you whining about?" House demanded. Wilson was clearly just as confused, but still rather amused by the situation. Apparently Foreman didn't consider breaking and entering on House's behalf a problem, but sharing the fruits of that labor was crossing a line.

"I agreed to do this because you said you needed information as Chase's doctor," Foreman said.

"No," House disagreed. "You did it because I told you to do it and you're my bitch. A whiny little bitch, as it turns out, but still…"

"Whatever!" Foreman snapped. "You're not Chase's doctor."

"He may not want me to be," House allowed. "But I'm the best he has at the moment."

"Oh yeah?" Foreman challenged. "Then who is…Whoa!" A hand shot out from behind him and grabbed his wrist. Foreman spun around and faced a very pale, very angry Robert Chase.

"Phone," Chase commanded quietly. Foreman quickly handed it over. He could hear House yelling at him over the other end.

"Who is who?" House said. "What are you talking about? Foreman!"

"Dr. House," Chase answered.

On their side of the line, House and Wilson both cringed. Wilson backed away from the phone as though Chase would know he was there if he stood too close.

"Hello, Chase," House said brightly. "Feeling better?"

"Let's get something straight, shall we?" Chase fumed. "Unless I'm dying in a hospital bed and unable to communicate what's wrong with me, you have no business sending Foreman or anyone else into my home! If you want to know something about my personal life, grow a set and ask me. Or better yet, rack off and leave me alone! Now, Foreman will be back in a few, and I'll be around tomorrow morning. Ta!"

Chase clicked Foreman's cell phone shut and handed it back to him. Foreman took it with a limp hand and a slack jaw. He couldn't believe what had just come out of Chase's mouth. And to House of all people! Normally, he would have paid big money to see that confrontation, but now as an accomplice, he was too worried to enjoy it.

"I don't know what he had you looking for or what you found," Chase said. "But whatever it was, it's nobody's business but mine."

"Absolutely," Foreman agreed. He wasn't even completely certain he'd seen anything relevant. "But that's notgoing to stop him from asking."

"Doesn't mean you have to answer," Chase said. "Especially if it will only lead to more questions from the police about why you broke into my home." Foreman's stomach clenched. He didn't like the idea of being arrested again in any case, but with Vogler stalking the halls and looking for cutbacks, if Chase involved the police it would be his job. "Got it?"

"Understood," Foreman said weakly.

"See you tomorrow."

Once Foreman was gone, Chase flopped down onto his couch and picked up the card Foreman had dropped. In a swell of anger, he crumpled it up and threw it across the room. He stood up too quickly to go get a glass of milk from the kitchen. He was doubled over on his knees before he could take a step. The pain was like a hot knife to the abdomen. He scrambled for the phone on the side table and dialed 911. He barely managed to choke out his address before he passed out.

Oblivious to the state he'd left Chase in, Foreman ran down the stairwell, blew past the doorman to his car, and sped back to the hospital. He couldn't believe what he'd just uncovered. Chase was in contact with another doctor, but none of his prescriptions were from this Dr. Noel, including the antidepressants.House hadn't found his name in Chase's file, so he probably wasn't Chase's physician. With Chase sneaking around behind House's back and Vogler's growing influence at Princeton-Plainsboro, there was only one other conclusion Foreman could draw. Chase was looking for another job; he was going to quit.

Meanwhile, in Diagnostics, House and Wilson were still gawking at the phone.

"What the hell just happened?" House exclaimed.

"I think Chase just told you to grow some balls and hung up on you," Wilson recapped.

"That's what I thought he said," House nodded. "Huh. Apparently, Dr. Chase has grown a brass set of own."

"I told you this was a bad idea," Wilson said. "You really need to learn when to back off. If Chase takes this to Cuddy…"

"Chase loves me," House insisted. "He's just a little cranky because his stomach has a leak."

"Well, you'd better stay clear until that leak is plugged," Wilson advised. "And hope Chase doesn't hold this against you. Because the last thing you need right now is complaint logged by one of your own team."

House wasn't concerned, though. He was sure his slight transgression would be well worth it when Foreman returned with the clues to unravel Chase's most recent mystery. He was horribly disappointed, therefore, when Foreman stomped into the office, slumped into a chair, and mulishly refused to say anything about Chase.

"What do you mean you're not telling?" House shouted. "You just wasted two hours snooping – badly, I might add, since you got caught - and you come back with nothing to show for it?"

"Chase has been taking his ulcer medication as directed," Foreman said "And that is all you need to know."

"But that's not all there is to know," House said. "Come on, give me something."

"No," Foreman refused. "I'm not gossiping about Chase."

"Why not?" House threw up his arms. "Everyone else does. What's the problem?"

"All right," Foreman said huffily. "You want a diagnosis? How's this? Chase. Is. Pissed! I thought he was going to kill me. Fortunately, he's a reasonable human being, so he blamed you. But he doesn't want me telling you anything," House rolled his eyes and started to remind everyone, yet again, of his complete lack of concern for Chase's wants, but Foreman spoke over him. "And I'm not going to tell, because I don't want Chase to have me arrested. The 'just following orders' defense hasn't worked in this country since the forties."

"Chase threatened to call the police?" Wilson said.

"Damn right, he did," Foreman nodded. "So like the man said, if you have a question, ask him yourself. I'm officially out of this."

Wilson frowned and folded his arms. He'd been observing the development of the Chase-House dynamic from the beginning. This reaction was too aggressive to be normal Chase behavior, even with House's outrageous misbehavior. He shared a glance with his friend, and House was clearly just as unsettled. But far from being discouraged, he was that much more determined to find out what Chase was so desperate to hide. However, the interrogation was abruptly halted when Cuddy came bursting into the office.

"Dr. House," she gasped as she tried to catch her breath and keep her balance in stilettos at the same time. "An ambulance just brought in Dr. Chase with severe stomach pains. He told them he was set for gastric surgery in the morning, so they're taking him in now. I thought you should know."

"Damn it," House cursed. "Page Steinman. He's the surgeon I had him scheduled with."

"You scheduled him?" Cuddy frowned. "Do you have his file, then? They're having trouble finding it."

House swore again. He'd been planning on bringing Chase's file back tomorrow for the surgery, and then hiding it again while Chase was in recovery. Fortunately, he did have Chase's chart and test results from the day before; that should be sufficient. He handed it to Cuddy. "That'll tell them what they need," he said. "And Steinman was already briefed, so he should be good." Cuddy scowled, but took the documents and left to get Dr. Steinman.

"Man, first you give him an ulcer than you stress him out until it ruptures," Wilson scolded. "Maybe you should go down there, make sure he's okay."

"That's his surgeon's job now," House said. He turned back to Foreman. "Why did you think I couldn't be Chase's doctor?"

"I told you," Foreman sighed. "I'm not…"

"I don't care what Chase said he'd do to you," House snapped. "If he's getting treatment for something from another doctor, I need to know about it. Now what did you find?"

Foreman surveyed House without flinching, but inside his own stomach was a bit shaky. He thought about Chase's neglected antidepressants and Dr. Kenneth Noel's business card. But Chase wanted his privacy, and Foreman wanted his job security. Besides, surely untaken medicine and a new job prospect had no bearing on Chase's upcoming surgery. Maybe he'd talk to Chase himself once he was feeling better, make sure everything was all right. But for now, he just looked House in the eye and told him, "There was nothing to find."

"Fine," House said. He yanked up his cane and glared at Foreman like he wanted nothing more than to poke his eyes out with it. "That's your story, fine, you stick to it. And if Chase dies on the table, you can feel secure in the knowledge that your own ass is safe."

Then he lurched out of the office with painfully long strides. The clinic was closest to the OR, so he waited there for some news, ignoring patients, snapping at nurses, and trying to figure out what hint he was missing. Damn Foreman, anyway, lousy coward. He should have searched Chase's place himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Chase's surgery went smoothly. Despite the intense pain, Chase's ulcer had not fully perforated. Dr. Steinman removed the damaged tissue and closed the hole without complication. As far as the surgeon knew Chase had no other history of stomach problems so he performed a selective vagotomy to lessen future acid production as a precaution, then closed him up and sent him to Recovery.

When House got word that Chase was out of surgery, he left a clinic patient mid-sentence. She was a college student, complaining about what she insisted was a rash on her back. In actuality, the girl just had a bad case of body acne. He had the receptionist page Cuddy to deal with it and went up to recovery to check on his Intensivist. He was stopped at the door of Chase's room by a nurse coming out.

"Can I help you?" the middle-aged woman asked. House smiled bleakly at her tone. She clearly knew who he was, though House didn't recognize her.

"Just checking up on Dr. Chase," House said. He tried to get a peek at the chart, but the nurse clutched it tight against her chest. "I am his primary doctor, after all, not to mention his boss." The nurse narrowed her eyes and reluctantly handed over the chart. House smiled smugly and didn't even glance at it. "He awake yet?"

"He's still pretty loopy from the anesthesia," the nurse nodded. "And we gave him a little something for the pain. He's conscious, but he's not making much sense."

"Yeah, he's such a lightweight," House said. "It's pathetic." The nurse scoffed disapprovingly and quickly left House's company.

House leered through the glass partition at his helpless underling and applauded his own excellent timing. People coming off of anesthesia and climbing on pain killers were notorious for being chatty. Granted, you couldn't take what they said at face value. A man might tell his wife that he was having a steamy affair, when he thought he was talking about checking the smoke detector for their eighty-year-old neighbor. But House prided himself on being able to discern fact from fiction, and this was the perfect chance to interrogate Chase without his barriers and inhibitions. The kid was a sitting duckling.

House slipped into the room, shut the blinds, and pulled up a chair next to the bed. He glanced at the monitors, which were all reading normally. Everything seemed to be in order, except Chase's hands were moving and twisting. It didn't appear involuntary though, too smooth and deliberate. It was more like Chase wanted to do something with his hands, but the medication made his limbs too heavy. When House had come out of his induced coma, they'd told him that he moved his hands sort of like that too. He vaguely remembered thinking he was playing the piano. Did Chase play an instrument?

"Good morning, Sunshine," House sing-songed.

Chase, who was barely awake, wobbled his head toward House and blinked at him. "Oh, are you not my doctor anymore?" Chase asked hopefully. His hands moved more as he spoke, but his words sounded like his tongue was full of Novocain.

"What makes you think that?" House asked.

"I can see you," Chase explained. "If you were my doctor you'd be invisible."

"Well, I'm making an exception this time," House said. "Minions are more important than patients. They're harder to replace."

"Too right," Chase agreed. "Offsiders have to be imported. Jersey doesn't have the right kind of soil."

House grinned delightedly. Having access to high-Chase was almost more fun than being high himself. He was the best kind of person to dope up: the kind that rattled off complete nonsense but was somehow able to hold a conversation. And even though Chase was clearly confused, House was sure he'd be able to decode the rambling into something useful. It might take a while, though, and his leg was getting stiff, so he propped his feet up on the side of Chase's bed and rubbed his thigh a bit. Chase glared at House's shoes with downright abhorrence.

"Who let those shoes in here?" he complained.

"You don't like my shoes, Chase?" House encouraged.

"Shoes are an evil, repressive institution. Needs to be abolished," Chase recited with absolute conviction. "They pinch. Made of crabs, you know."

"Oh, I would sell Wilson's soul for a tape recorder right now," House chuckled. Chase wasn't lucid enough to figure that, so he just frowned and blinked some more. "So, Chase, you were kind of mean to me on the phone earlier. Hurt my feelings."

"Oh no," Chase said. "You should give them some of your Vicodin."

"No can do," House said regretfully. "Doctors can't treat their own feelings. It's a conflict of interest." Chase seemed genuinely distressed that the feelings weren't going to get proper medical attention. "Know any other doctors you could recommend?"

"Cameron," Chase said. "She's clucky." Normally, House would be amused by the readiness of that answer, but he'd been hoping Chase would give up the name of this other doctor Foreman seemed to think he had.

"She's with a patient," House said absently. It might have even been true. Oh well, if he couldn't sniff out Chase's other doctor, he'd just have to play doctor himself, find out why Chase needed another doctor in the first place. He pushed the call button for a nurse and started unhooking Chase's monitors.

"Is there a problem?" a nurse leaned through the door.

"Wheelchair," House ordered. The nurse glowered at his abruptness, but fetched one anyway. House got a hold of Chase's ankles and started pulling him into a sitting position. "Come on, Chase, we're going for a little ride."

"Am I going home already?" Chase asked with bright eyes. And that question was a little too coherent for House's comfort. If the drugs were wearing off, he needed to hurry this along. "That's good. This place has bodgy security and I can't be kidnapped on Wednesday, cause I'm having my ears sewn up. Friday's good though." Then again, maybe those drugs could hold a little longer.

"I'm not kidnapping you, Chase," House said. Well, okay, he kind of was, but he wasn't taking him out of the hospital. He wrapped an arm around Chase's waist and eased him into the wheelchair, mindful of his stitches. "We're just going to go play in the MRI machine, maybe take a little blood, see if your insides are as pretty as your outsides. That'll be fun, right?"

"Sailing is fun," Chase said. "We can go on Friday."

As far as informed consent went, that was plenty good enough for House. He wheeled Chase through the halls. Halfway down, he had to duck into an empty room with his hand over Chase's mouth to hide from Cuddy, but he still managed to sneak Chase in for an MRI. House had no idea what he was looking for so he decided to do a full-body scan. Unfortunately, Chase's cooperation was reaching its limit. He wouldn't stop moving his hands. Finally House lost his patience and just restrained his wrists. Chase wasn't happy about that and he refused to speak to House again.

"Okay," House rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Let's see what you're made of, Robert." He started the scan. A moment later his pager went off. It was from Foreman with a message declaring the situation urgent. "Damn it." Well, the scan was already in progress and he was Chase's primary so he kind of had the authority to be doing this. He sent a message back for the rest of the team to come join him.

Wilson, Cameron, and Foreman came in wearing frowns and looking back and forth between House and the MRI. Foreman caught on quickly and fumed, his nostrils flaring to new levels. Wilson sighed and shook his head with an odd combination of hope that he was mistaken and resignation that he wasn't. Cameron, who had been in the clinic most of the day and missed the latest drama, was just confused.

"Who's in there?" Cameron asked. "We don't have another patient, do we?"

"We don't have any patients that I'm aware of," House said. Wilson groaned; House avoiding the question was as good as a confession of guilt.

"We do now," Foreman said. He handed House the file of a woman named Carly. "Executive, just back from Asia. She came into the clinic earlier this week," House ground his teeth at the connection with Vogler's unwelcome arrival, "for paralysis in her leg. They've been running tests for days, but it's all negative so she's been kicked to us."

"She's already had an MRI," Wilson said. "So I would also like to know, who do you have in there?"

House smirked, and pressed the intercom. "How you doing in there, Chase?" he called. Chase didn't answer. Foreman ran his hands over his head. He was so getting arrested! And damned if he didn't take House down with him. Cameron's eyelids practically disappeared. Wilson cursed and reached to halt the scan, but House slapped his hands away. "My patient! Get your own."

"Damn it, House," Wilson said. "You don't want to wear your lab coat, fine! But can't you at least try to tone down the ethics violations? If Chase…"

"Oh, would you lighten up?" House said. "Chase isn't going to do anything. Now that he's all sewn up, once he's off the meds he'll probably be stumbling all over himself to apologize for his rudeness."

"Even Chase has his limits, House," Wilson said. "What makes you think he's going to put up with this abuse of authority?"

"I'm not abusing him," House objected. "I'm treating him."

"For what?" Cameron asked worriedly. She'd heard that his gastric surgery was already successfully completed.

"Well, I'd know," House drawled. "If you pests would quit distracting me."

"Did Chase consent to this?" Cameron asked. "Because he didn't seem too happy yesterday when you forced yourself on him." House chortled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Cameron replayed what she'd said and groaned. "Medically speaking. You know he probably wouldn't want this."

"As far as Chase knows, he's scuba diving in the Barrier Reef," House said. He brushed her away with a hand over his shoulder. "He's got no reason to complain. Now zip it up."

He turned his attention back to Chase's MRI lighting up the screens in front of him. For all their disapproval, none of the other doctors resisted looking over House's shoulder while he examined the images. He focused on the abdomen first and was pleased by what he could see of the surgical results. Chase's stomach was well on its way to being in one piece again. Nothing else in that area immediately threw up red flags either, so he moved on to the next obvious area of concern, the head. Foreman was especially interested as a neurologist, but also because he was looking for an organic explanation of Chase's anti-depressant prescription. But he didn't see anything; Chase had a perfectly healthy brain.

"What the hell was that?" House murmured.

"What?" Foreman shot up straight, as though he'd been caught trying to pick House's pocket. "I don't see anything."

"Not in his brain," House said. "It's…There!" He tapped the screen on the side of the outline of Chase's skull.

"There's nothing there!" Cameron agreed with Foreman.

"No, something's off," House insisted.

"Let me see," Wilson leaned forward. He was about to concur with Foreman and Cameron, but something caught his eye. He blinked and squinted for a better look.

"Well?" House asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure…" Wilson said. In a print-out, he probably wouldn't have looked twice. Even now, he couldn't swear he'd seen anything. Still, he was concerned. Maybe he was just reflecting House's new paranoia about Chase, but at the same time he knew how difficult growths in this area could be to detect. "Let's bring the focus in a bit." He glanced apologetically back at Foreman and Cameron, who were glaring at his enabling. "Just to be sure."

"Hey, this is your show," Foreman said with both hands in the air. "I just came to inform Dr. House of his new patient."

"Do you really think something's wrong?" Cameron asked.

"I think it might be worth finding out," Wilson said.

"And I think you're all wasting time, since you know I'm going to do it anyway," House said, even as he typed in the necessary sequence. But suddenly the monitors all started going haywire. House winced; his time was up. The drugs had worn off enough for Chase to be fully aware and if the thrashing was any indication, he was very unhappy. House reluctantly pressed the intercom.

"What the hell is going on?" Chase's screams blared over the speaker. "Get me out of here now! HOUSE!"


	6. Chapter 6

Foreman and Wilson ran to release Chase. Cameron hovered and tried to calm him before he ripped his stitches. House maintained a safe distance just in case Chase wanted to take a swing at him.

"God, House, what were you thinking?" Cameron scolded. "He's just had major surgery."

"How'd I get here?" Chase asked. "I was home…"

He sounded scared, and House felt a twinge of guilt. Chase had been unconscious when they brought him in. He probably didn't even remember calling the ambulance. Coming back to himself inside of an MRI must have been disorienting to say the least.

"Your ulcer kicked in again," House explained. "You called an ambulance, just like you promised. Good boy. I'll give you your sticker later. Dr. Steinman put you back together. Now you're going to be a guest of our fine establishment for the next seven to ten days, so we can pump you full of vitamins, monitor for hypoglycemia, and insert various catheters as necessary."

"And how exactly does your administering a post-surgery MRI fit into that scenario?" Chase demanded.

"Just making sure there were no complications," House shrugged. "I've got your back."

"You wanted there to be complications," Chase accused. "You want there to be something wrong with me! Damn it, House, I'm not one of your toys!"

"Chase, take it easy," Foreman said. "You need to relax."

"Let's get you back to your room, okay?" Cameron suggested. The two of them helped Chase back into his wheelchair and Wilson double-checked his stitches.

"There is something wrong with you," House insisted. "In your head."

"House," Wilson disapproved.

"I don't want to hear it," Chase said. "I'm tired."

"You can doze in the MRI," House said. "I need another scan from you if I'm going to get a good look at this thing."

"We're not even sure there's anything to look at," Wilson said.

"So we get the scan and find out!" House argued.

"No!" Chase said. "No scans, no tests, no nothing! I want to go back to my room now."

"Oh, quit being such a baby," House sneered. "You're going to be in the hospital anyway, right? Might as well make it worth your while. Just lie back down and let me do the damn scan so I can see what the problem is."

"I know what the damn problem is," Chase shouted. "I'm going deaf!"


	7. Chapter 7

The room couldn't have been more silent if everyone there was already deaf and mute themselves. Cameron was already tearing up. Foreman was looking back and forth between Chase and House, like this was a trick they were playing on him and he didn't want to fall for it. Wilson's face was slack with shock and confusion. Except he wasn't looking at Chase; he was watching House. And House didn't look concerned, or ashamed, or even curious. As he looked down on Chase, House was palpably furious.

Chase wasn't looking much happier than House. He hadn't wanted any of them to know until absolutely necessary, and now he'd gone and blurted it out in front of the entire team and Dr. Wilson to boot! Why didn't he just page Dr. Cuddy right now and get it over with? At his best, Chase had long since learned how not be provoked by his boss. But right now the medications made him emotive and vulnerable and House was just enough of a no-good-rat-bastard to take advantage. Chase slouched dejectedly in his wheelchair and stared at his hands folded in his lap. Why couldn't he have kept his damn mouth closed?

"Chase, what…" Cameron stuttered and wrung her hands. "I mean, are you sure? How do you…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chase said.

"Get over it," House snarled. "Cause you have a lot of explaining to do."

"The only thing you need to know, Dr. House," Chase retorted. "Is that if you try something like this again, I'm going straight to Dr. Cuddy and filing a report against you for harassment and malpractice." The only reason he wasn't wheeling himself up there to do it right now was because the Vogler wildcard put his own job in a precarious position as well. As for House, now it looked like he was the one wanting to take a swing at Chase. "I've just had surgery. I'm tired. I want to go back to my room." He also wanted to be away from his nosy colleagues, so he looked over his shoulder. "Dr. Wilson? Would you mind?"

"Sure, Chase," Wilson nodded. He glared at House defiantly and took hold of the handles and wheeled Chase out the door.

The rest of the team lingered awkwardly. Cameron was watching House like she couldn't decide between comforting him and berating him. Foreman's chin and eyebrow were both raised high in defensive posturing. House's knuckles were white around the handle of his cane. He wanted to go after Chase, demand some answers. But Chase's threat was finally serious enough to make him pause. He might have to wait until Chase was out of recovery and cooled off.

"Damn," Foreman whispered. "I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it."

"How can Chase be going deaf?" Cameron fretted. "I haven't noticed him having any problems, have you? I mean, how could we all miss something like that?"

"He said he's going deaf," House snapped. "As in, is not deaf yet. Relax. You're not going to lose your sensitivity merit badge."

"Guess we know where the ulcer came from," Foreman said. "Finding out your losing one of your senses has got to be bad enough, but then hiding it for four months. No wonder."

"Four months?" House said. "That's oddly specific. Something you want to share with the class?" Foreman shut his eyes for a moment and bit his tongue. He'd hoped Chase's confession would redirect House's irritation away from him, but he'd just guided it right back again. He was about to go on refusing to answer, but House was done with that game. "Foreman!"

"All right," Foreman surrendered. "When I was at Chase's place, I noticed another prescription. Anti-depressants. It was dated four months back, but he's never touched them."

That did it. To hell with Chase's demands, and screw Vogler! House barked out tests for the other two to start running on Carly - practically growled at Foreman – and then stomped out after Chase.

Meanwhile, Chase and Wilson's trip back upstairs was tense. On the one hand, Wilson was exasperated by House's actions and reaction. What was he thinking provoking an ulcer patient this way so soon after surgery, let alone one who wasn't even supposed to be his patient?But, even so, Wilson was House's best friend and, as usual, he felt compelled to defend and interpret for him.

"So," Wilson tried to reopen conversation as they entered the elevator. "I'd offer to swing by the cafeteria, grab us a bite, but I'm pretty sure you're on liquids-only for a couple days."

"I'm not hungry, anyway," Chase said. "But thanks."

"You know, you seem to hear just fine," Wilson said. "I don't think House mentioned having to yell at you any more than usual."

"Yeah, my hearing's okay for now," Chase said. "It's just not going to stay that way."

"How do you know?" Wilson asked. The doors opened and he wheeled Chase out and back toward his room. "Maybe you should get a second opinion."

"Technically, I haven't gotten a first one," Chase mumbled.

"What?" Wilson squeaked. "Then how can you possibly…"

"Dr. Wilson, I'm really tired," Chase pleaded.

"Okay," Wilson turned into Chase's room. "Okay. Here we go. You need help?" Chase waved him off and gingerly climbed into bed. Wilson checked on his stitches and reattached him to all the necessary monitors. Everything seemed to be fine, so at least House hadn't damaged the kid. "You know, you're going to have to talk to him about this sooner or later."

"I'll let him know when it starts to interfere with my job," Chase said. "It's not an issue yet."

"Oh, come on, Chase! You've been here long enough to know better than that." Wilson sighed and fell into the chair beside Chase's bed. "Look, I'm not going to defend his behavior, okay? The only bigger waste of breath would be trying to convince him that he's done anything that needs defending. We both know that."

"Yeah, lousy FIGJAM," Chase said.

"FIGJAM?"

Chase held up his hand and counted off on his fingers as he spoke. "Fuck I'm Good Just Ask Me."

"Oh, that is perfect," Wilson laughed. Chase smiled to. When he'd first started working at PPTH he'd taken to calling his boss 'Dr. FIGJAM' in his head to help keep his temper. "But seriously, Chase, you're not just another puzzle to him. If you were, he wouldn't be so angry! And trust me, he's pissed." Chase cringed; now that his own anger was ebbing, the thought of facing House's was scary again. "And he wouldn't still be riding you either. I mean, you told him what the problem is. Mystery solved!" Not really, since they didn't know why Chase thought he was losing his hearing, but he was making a point here. "He's angry and relentless because he cares."

"I don't think so," Chase disagreed. He knew House didn't like him or respect him. Chase had accepted that and resigned himself to getting everything he could out of this Fellowship before House got bored with him.

"Just talk to him," Wilson pressed. "Get it all out there. All this subterfuge is getting really toxic. And who knows? Maybe we can help."

"I wish he could help me, Wilson," Chase said. "But he can't."

"How do you know?" House demanded from the doorway. Wilson started at his voice, but Chase just groaned and threw an arm over his eyes.

"For the love of God, make it go away," Chase grumbled.

"God can't help you now, Chase," House said. He closed the door behind him and stood menacingly at the foot of the bed. "You've done a very bad thing and you need to be punished so you can repent."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Chase argued. "This isn't affecting my job yet. When it does, I promise I'll tell you before it becomes a problem."

"Why should I believe you?" House scoffed. "You've been lying to me for months. Hell, maybe even since I hired you! Maybe I should just fire your lying ass right now!"

"House, that's enough," Wilson interrupted. "Come on, he needs to rest. We can do this later."

"You stay out of it!" House snapped. Wilson frowned and folded his arms, but he didn't leave. He wasn't leaving Chase alone with House without a referee. House glared down at Chase, who felt horribly exposed in a hospital gown under threadbare sheets. "I'm dead serious, Chase. Either start talking or you're out."

Chase just stared for a moment. This was the man Wilson believed cared about him? He was sick, damn it! He'd just had surgery. House had already harassed him, violated him, practically assaulted him! Now he was threatening to fire him too? And with the new management critical of Diagnostics, that was no idle threat. Chase really didn't want to share this or any other part of his life with House, but he wanted to lose his job even less. This was no longer an issue of whether or not he trusted House, because he really didn't, not personally. This was about survival, professionally.

"It's hereditary," Chase said softly. "Otosclerosis."

House was familiar with it. Basically, excess immature bone tissue built up in the middle ear and prevented vibration from conducting sound to the inner ear. In severe cases, it could even damage the auditory nerves.

"Go on," House ordered unsympathetically.

"My mother had it," Chase explained. "I don't remember when it started, but by the time I was ten her hearing was completely gone."

"Is that when she started drinking?" House asked. Wilson looked like he wanted to slap him.

"Yeah," Chase nodded. "I mean, not right away. She tried to deal with it at first. She and I both learned to Sign." He started using his hands too, to demonstrate. House watched interestedly. "She never got the hang of lip-reading, though, so she'd take me with her to interpret. But after a while, it just got to be too much. She couldn't handle it."

At first, Chase had enjoyed the trips out with his mother. They were a team. But as Chase got older, he wasn't as available. He had other responsibilities. Also, his mother started to resent being so dependent on her son. She became isolated and depressed. That was when the drinking started. In fact, when the drinking got bad she even took Chase to the liquor store with her to help her buy Vodka once. Rowan was livid when he found out. He left a month later.

"Anyway," Chase continued, no longer using his hands. "I always knew there was a chance that it might happen to me too. But it's so much more common in women, you know? And I was really careful, took all the right supplements. I thought…I hoped it would pass me over. But a few months ago, I started experiencing some tinnitus in my left ear. Nothing too bad, just a kind of pulsing feedback sometimes."

"What does your audiologist say?" House asked.

"I haven't been to an audiologist," Chase confessed. "I did contact an old professor of mine. He specialized more in the vestibular system, but I figured it was better than nothing."

"Brilliant," House dead-panned.

"He gave me a list of names," Chase continued. "Told me not to give up, and wrote me a prescription for Lexapro in case the transition got to be too difficult." House scoffed; sounded like another useless boob to him. "Yeah, well. Now I have intermittent tinnitus in both ears. I haven't noticed any significant change in my hearing yet, but…"

"You will," House said. Chase nodded. "Is this what you and your dad were standing off over in the parking lot?" Chase jolted; that had been weeks ago. He didn't even know House heard about it. Wilson groaned and rolled his eyes. Like a dog with a bone, that was House. "Well?"

"He went through it with my mother," Chase shrugged. "He knows the signs. Saw me fiddle with my ears a couple times, the way I made sure I was turned toward people talking to me. He confronted me about it. I got angry."

"Why?" Wilson asked. "He's your dad. I'm sure he was just concerned."

"He wants me to move back to Australia." Chase rolled his eyes and shook his head. His hair was falling into his face, but he didn't brush it back this time. He almost felt safer hidden behind it.

"What?" House exclaimed.

"There's this specialist there," Chase explained. "Dr. Kenneth Noel. He wants me to see him. I told him I wasn't leaving until I had to. He thinks by then it'll be too late, but I've done the research. There's nothing anyone can do for me at this stage. Later on I might be able to consider a Stapedectomy, but that didn't work for my Mum so I'm not counting on it."

"And if you do go completely deaf?" Wilson asked. "What are you going to do then? Can you still practice medicine if you can't hear?"

"I don't know."

It was hard for the other two doctors to take all this in. Chase explained his condition so calmly and matter-of-fact. Well, his probable condition, anyway. House was definitely dragging Chase's ass to an audiologist as soon as he was recovered enough for one to accept him. But still, Chase believed it, and he acted like it was no big deal. As long as it didn't interfere with his job, hey, no problem! It made House even angrier, and he was about to tear into him. Then Chase pulled his thermal blanket higher up on his chest and fidgeted with his IV a bit. It was a small gesture, but big enough to remind House why they were having this conversation in the first place. Chase was in the hospital as a patient, because the stupid kid had given himself a bleeding ulcer. Maybe he hid it well from everyone else, but inside Chase's impending disability was literally tearing him apart. There was something grotesquely symbolic about this whole situation. It may have even appealed to House if it wasn't one of his own.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of Chase's recovery went fairly smoothly for him, though the rest of the team wasn't coping quite so well. They were off their game with a missing teammate, and Carly's case was difficult enough as it was. They managed to save their patient, ultimately with a heart transplant, but only through some slick maneuvering by House. She shouldn't have been eligible, due to her bulimia and illicit use of the drug ipecac, but House managed to keep those details hidden long enough to get her the organ and the second chance she needed. Cuddy was relieved – she never liked refusing a patient – and eager to let it go, but Vogler – who got a major power trip from voting on life or death – was suspicious and watching House much too closely for comfort.

Wilson stopped by to check on Chase now and again, but he was the only one. Foreman and even Cameron were both too uncomfortable. House didn't go to see Chase again either. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing he could do about Chase until he was out of recovery. In the meantime there was no point inflicting his presence on him. Wilson gave him hell over it. He'd gone to a lot of effort to convince Chase that House really did give a damn, and House's behavior was undermining all his hard work.

"Come on, it wouldn't kill you just to stop by," Wilson needled. "You don't even have to act concerned. Nag him about when he's coming back to work."

"He's getting discharged in two days," House said. "Assuming he's not hording any other debilitating conditions that I should have been told about months ago."

"Just because he's getting discharged doesn't mean he'll be back to work right away," Wilson argued. "He had surgery; he's entitled to a few days at home."

House snorted; entitled Chase may be, but not willing. This ulcer-fiasco was the first time Chase had missed work in all his time at PPTH, and House had no doubt Chase would be back the day after he was discharged, if not that afternoon.

"Why are you still so upset about that, anyway?" Wilson asked. "Chase is right, you know. He didn't have to tell you anything as long as it didn't affect his ability to do his job."

"You think going deaf isn't going to affect his job?" House said.

"It's going to affect every part of his life," Wilson said. "So, a little compassion from the people around him wouldn't be amiss. But right now, he doesn't even have a concrete diagnosis. He hasn't lost any significant hearing yet."

"That he's noticed," House retorted. And that was the most worrying part. If Chase did go deaf, there were ways for him to adapt. He'd survive. But the transition between being a hearing doctor and a non-hearing doctor would be rough at best. For an Intensivist it could even be dangerous.

In his room, Chase's thoughts were not so different from his supervisor's. He'd been stressing for months over how his life would have to change if he lost his hearing. Sometimes he felt guilty for not going to an audiologist for an affirmation; he knew that by the time his hearing was notably damaged he could be putting his patients at risk, especially if no one else knew. But he couldn't bring himself to make the appointment. He'd seen what going deaf had done to his mum.

Chase didn't like to remember his mother before the alcoholism. It was hard to think about what he'd lost. She had been so pretty, and so much fun. She would read to him, twirling around the room to act out the dialogue and action as she read. They took made up all kinds of games with ever-changing rules that no one else would ever have been able to follow. The last clear thing he remembered them doing together was when he was eight. He went through a pirate phase and she drew maps to lead him on treasure hunts in the backyard. But after her hearing started to go, there were no more games. She couldn't hear him calling. And soon there were no more stories. She couldn't hear herself speak.

This damn disease had already taken away his parents, his childhood, and now it was taking away his future! So, even as he researched possible treatments, rehabilitation options, and even other careers, Chase had kept it all to himself. And he hoped, wished, even prayed that the ringing in his ears would just go away.

The glass door to Chase's room hissed open, interrupting his brooding and his lunch. He pushed the tray aside as Edward Vogler stepped in. Chase hadn't spoken to the hospital's new benefactor since he arrived, but it was common knowledge that he and House were not on good terms.

"Hello, Dr. Chase," Vogler said with a wide smile. He reached out and Chase accepted the firm handshake. "Edward Vogler."

"Nice to meet you," Chase said. He sat up a little straighter, wishing he wasn't having his first meeting with a billionaire from a hospital bed. He was just glad the catheter had been removed a couple days ago.

"I hope this isn't a bad time," Vogler said. "But this was starting to seem like the only way I'd get to meet you. I've been making the rounds around the hospital, getting to know everyone. I've already met the rest of Diagnostics."

"Yes, I've heard," Chase nodded. "I also heard you weren't as impressed as most."

"I'm sure Dr. House is very good at what he does," Vogler said diplomatically. "But considering the amount of money devoted to the department, he doesn't seem to do very much of it."

"Dr. House is very selective," Chase said.

"Isn't that frustrating for the three of you, though?" Vogler pressed. "Sitting on your hands, waiting for something to amuse him?"

"I like my job," Chase insisted.

"Well, I guess it would be a bit better for you," Vogler shrugged. "You get bored, and you can always head down to ICU for something to do." Chase nodded. He'd done just that many times during dry spells, especially during his first few months at PPTH, before Cameron or Foreman arrived. "Hell, you could probably even get a permanent placement down there, if you needed to."

Chase wasn't sure he was comfortable where Vogler's implications were leading him. "I could get a job in any hospital ICU," he said. "I came here to work with House."

"And you've never regretted it," Vogler said with a knowing smirk.

"Well, I don't know if I'd say that," Chase muttered. He'd actually regretted it quiet a lot lately.

Another boss wouldn't spy on him and insinuate himself into Chase's private life for no reason beyond his own perverse curiosity. Another boss wouldn't belittle him either. Chase wasn't like the others. He liked being appreciated as much as anyone else, but he didn't need House's approval to feel validated. He lived with the choices he made, and he knew that he was a proficient doctor. Still, it was to cope in this environment when House's blatant disregard and disrespect spread. Many people didn't take Chase seriously because of the way House treated him – or, as Foreman would argue, the way Chase allowed himself to be treated. As if anything Chase said or did could change House's opinion or behavior. He admired House as a doctor, occasionally enjoyed him as a wit. For the next year and a half, that would just have to be enough.

"Working with House is not an opportunity to be passed up lightly," Chase said.

"Not lightly," Vogler agreed. "But everyone has their limits. And House certainly knows how to push them, doesn't he?"

The conversation slowly steered away from House after that. Vogler asked a lot of questions about Chase. Where did he do his residency? Was practicing medicine in America very different from Australia? How did he like working with Cameron and Foreman? Chase was guarded and diplomatic, trying to get a sense of what Vogler wanted. Obviously he was looking for an angle against House, but the way he was feeling Chase out personally made him wonder what exactly his next move would be.

When Vogler left Chase's room about twenty minutes after his arrival, House was leaning against one of the hallway columns, out of sight until Vogler passed. He'd been spending a lot of time on that hall recently, and almost running into Vogler as he left Chase's room was not a welcome surprise. House glanced uncertainly through the window and watchedChase pick at his cold lunch.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later, Chase was putting on the jeans and long-sleeved blue t-shirt he'd arrived in the day of his surgery. The clock on the wall read 10:38, still early enough. He could go home, grab a shower, and maybe come back for the afternoon. House would probably give him a hard time. Unless he spent the afternoon working the clinic, in which case House would just remind him to go under his name. That was a good plan. He'd be back at work, but not in close contact with his co-workers. Hopefully they could bypass the awkwardness that way before they got a new case.

He picked up the rest of his personal items, turned to go, and nearly jumped a foot when he saw House standing in the doorway. Damn it, his hearing couldn't be that bad yet. How could a man clunking around with a cane be so sneaky?

"Checking out?" House said.

"I'm just going home for a quick change," Chase nodded. "I'll be back later this afternoon. Unless we don't have a case, then I might wait until tomorrow."

House's smirk was unsettlingly triumphant as he listened to Chase's plan, but he didn't say anything. Chase waited a moment for him to move, but finally got anxious and tried to push past him. House grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the elevator. That was where Chase needed to go anyway, so he let himself be steered, but when he tried to push the button for the lobby House slapped his hand away.

"Uh, sorry," he said. "You're already late." He pushed the button for the second floor. "You can use the locker showers later. And those clothes match better than anything I've seen you wear in weeks anyway."

"Late for what?" Chase asked.

"You have an appointment with Dr. Monroe," House informed him.

Dr. Monroe was an audiologist in the Otolaryngology department. She was near the top of the list Chase's professor had sent, mostly due to proximity. Chase glowered at House's ongoing interference, but he didn't argue. Now that the team knew about his problem, it was probably best to get all his information straight, see what his options were.

"So," House drawled. "Saw Vogler coming out of your room the other day." Chase braced himself. "Did he bring you flowers?"

"He said he's trying to get more familiar around the hospital," Chase shrugged. "He already met Cameron and Foreman. And you, obviously. My turn, I guess."

"You talk about anything interesting?" House asked.

"Like you sending Foreman to spy on me?" Chase challenged. "Or making yourself my doctor and running tests on me without my consent? Your last patient?" Chase's nurses had kept him up-to-date on the drama in Diagnostics, and he'd worked with House long enough to know when something shifty went down. "Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

"Because I'm sweet," House simpered. "Not to mention, if I go down I'm taking everybody with me." Chase snorted and nodded, like he didn't expect anything else.

This combative streak was really getting to House. Of the three of them, Chase had always been his best supporter. Chase didn't hero-worship him the way Cameron did; she thought House could do no wrong. So when House did mess up, Chase didn't take it as a personal let down the way she did. And Chase didn't dispute him like Foreman; he thought House was usually wrong, but lucky, even after he proved right. Chase followed House's lead and gave him the benefit of the doubt almost deferentially, which gave House ample opportunities to tease him as sycophantic. But now, it bothered House to know that he'd finally pushed too hard, that maybe Chase didn't trust him.

When the elevator stopped at the second floor, Chase stepped off without a fuss. House herded him through the halls with his cane to Dr. Monroe's office, like a sadistic shepherd collecting a lamb that tried to take its chances with the wolves.

They knocked and Dr. Monroe waved them in with a broad smile. She was on the phone, but clearly trying to She maneuver out of the conversation. Chase had never had cause to work with her, and had only really seen her in the halls a few times. She was a younger woman, maybe a few years younger than Cuddy, with blonde hair (darker than Chase's) and honey-brown eyes. Her office was a bit smaller than House's. Or it may have just seemed that way, since it was crowded with equipment. Chase frowned over his shoulder at House; what had he told Monroe to make all this necessary?

"Dr. Chase," Monroe stood and leaned over her desk to shake Chase's hand. "Nice to see you." She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "And Dr. House. Is there a reason you're here?"

"I made the appointment," House said, pretending to be affronted.

"For Dr. Chase," Monroe said. "I'm sure he'll fill you in later on anything you need to know."

"Not good enough," House said. "His definition of what I need to know, and my definition of what I need to know, are antonyms."

"If Dr. Chase is willing, we could page you after the exam is finished," Monroe suggested.

"Ohhh, I don't know; all that walking," House said. He held up his cane and pretended to wince.

"You can wait in our lounge," Monroe persisted.

It was 10: 44 now; General Hospital started at 11:00. The actual testing probably wouldn't be that interesting anyway, but if there were any major revelations he wanted to be there for them. Unfortunately, neither Monroe nor Chase were budging on this, so it appeared he had to settle for the bottom line. He gave Chase a parting glare, and went to find the Otolaryngology lounge.

"Okay, then," Chase said. "Let's get this over with."

When he made the appointment, House hadn't given any details, so Chase had to explain everything, from his symptoms to his mother, all over again. He didn't mention the horrible effect losing her hearing had on his mother, and Monroe didn't push for anything beyond the clinical. She clearly didn't approve when Chase mentioned House seeing something on the unauthorized MRI, but she was professional enough not to say anything to the other doctor's junior.

After the history was taken, Monroe put Chase through a thorough examination.

Otoscopes probed his ear canals. Headphones pumped out tones at various pitches and volumes. The impedence test proved a bit uncomfortable as the air pressure in his ear increased. All the same, Chase didn't find any of the tasks too difficult and he was starting to feel hopeful.

The whole ordeal took well over an hour. Finally Monroe packed away the equipment she'd brought in. Chase started to help out of habit, until Monroe told him to sit down and relax. He was the patient right now. Frankly, Chase'd had more than his fill of being a patient lately, but he did as he was told. Eventually, Monroe took her seat behind her desk. She leaned forward with her hands folded in front of her on her desk. Chase tensed; he recognized that body language and it rarely meant anything good.

In the lounge, House was bored and irritated. Who came up with the whole doctor-patient privilege anyway? It should include him since he was a doctor. Or maybe it should exclude Chase since he was a doctor and patient at the same time. Whatever it took for House to know what was going on. This lounge didn't even have a widescreen to make up for his disappointment. He glanced at the clock and that was it. They'd been at it for over an hour! What was taking so long? House picked up his cane and went to pace the hall in front of Monroe's office.

Many minutes later, Chase came out. He was already shaken, and when he saw House standing there waiting for him his face fell even further. House raised an expectant eyebrow. Chase rolled his eyes and started for the elevator, but House blocked him with his cane across his knees.

"What happened to my page?" House said.

Chase stared blankly at him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ten to fifteen percent hearing loss," he said. "Both ears." He stepped over House's cane and tried for the elevator again. House caught up with him and Chase wondered if he could get away with taking the stairs instead.

"And?" House demanded. "Now what?"

"Now nothing," Chase shrugged. "I'm not far enough along for further testing. Technically, she couldn't even definitively say Otosclerosis, except for my family history. So for now, all I can do is wait, hope that a treatment option will become available. She did assure me that my hearing loss shouldn't affect my job performance for at least another twenty to twenty-five percent, maybe more if I can get a hold of the right tools. Anyway, that's hopefully a few months off, so we'll see right?"

"Right," House said. Apparently they were back to being blasé about this. That's fine. He could do that. "Okay then. Go grab your shower and get back to work."

"Actually, I'm still kind of woozy," Chase said. "I think I'll take the rest of the day, if you don't need me. I'll be back in tomorrow."

The two doctors separated on the first floor outside of the clinic. Chase caught a cab back to his building. He was satisfied, if not happy, to see that his new lock and deadbolt were installed while he was gone. He got the new keys from the building super and went inside. He collapsed onto his bed, turned on the stereo and let The Eagles blast as loud as he could without being reported by his neighbors.

Back at the hospital, House left the clinic behind and went to find Wilson. As usual, he was with a patient, but it was just a follow-up visit from a success story, so House was even less hesitant than usual to interrupt.

"You know, one of these days I'm going to be talking to a patient who really is dying," Wilson complained. "What'll you do then?"

"Chase is officially losing his hearing," House announced. "Down ten percent and counting."

"Wow," Wilson sighed and shook his head with his hands on his hips. "That's really rough. Especially for an Intensivist. So what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" House frowned. "I'm not an audiologist."

"You know what I mean," Wilson lectured.

"He's got a few months," House said. "We'll deal with it when we have to."


	10. Chapter 10

The return to work was every bit as grating as Chase anticipated. Cameron flitted back and forth between smothering and avoiding him. Did he and House talk at all? Was he really supposed to be back at work already? At the same time, she clearly wasn't comfortable and took every excuse she could find not to be around him: the lab, the clinic, anything. Foreman was no better. He was even more disregarding of Chase than usual. He spoke slowly and too loud, as though Chase was already deaf and somehow deficient. Chase finally snapped at him to lower his voice. Foreman looked to House for support with a long-suffering roll of the eyes, like it was such an inconvenience putting up with Chase. The tension got so bad House was actually relieved when he was ordered to take on a new case. Maybe a new challenge would get the three of them out of each others' hair.

He was in luck. Their newest case was better than he could have hoped for. A mobster turned witness in a coma. Vogler was convinced that the man was faking and wanted him out of there fast, so House was looking for ways to drag this out as long as possible. Besides, the ex-mobster's older brother (still very much a mobster) was pressuring him to stall.

Unfortunately, that plan hit a snag. After treating a hematoma, Joey the mobster woke up. The kids were ready to release him back into federal custody, but House refused. Even if the hematoma had caused the coma, as Chase rhythmically suggested, what caused the hematoma? House wasn't discharging his patient until he knew. Vogler had other ideas. When he went to check House's work and found the coma patient eating lunch, he put in a call to the Justice Department and had him shipped out immediately. House stormed into Cuddy's office, ready to tear into the both of them, when his pager went off. Joey had barely even made it out of the parking lot.

"His livers worse," Chase announced.

"Comatose?" House asked.

"No," Cameron complained. "Completely different symptoms than the first time."

"Serology tests came back positive for Hep-C," Chase announced.

"Hep-C is a chronic condition," House tapped his marker on the clear board. "You don't think this is an acute situation?"

"Coma, vomiting, abdominal pain," Chase shook his head. "Hep-C explains everything."

"Except for the suddenness of the onset," House insisted. "Think about it. You get home one night. Your wife hits you with a baseball bat. Likely cause is the fact you haven't thanked her for dinner in eight years, or the receipt for fur handcuffs she found in your pants. Sudden onset equals proximate cause."

"He also has high estrogen levels in his blood," Chase said, looking over his results again. "That's indicative of a chronic condition, not acute."

"One test," House scoffed. "What do his other liver tests tell us?"

"Normal albumen levels point toward acute," Cameron piped up.

"Uh-huh," Chase grumbled. He wondered if maybe Dr. House agreed with Foreman and suddenly thought him incompetent. "And why is her test better than mine?"

"Because she's cuter," House said. Cameron blushed and squirmed horribly. Even in his bad mood, Chase had to smirk and wonder just how much drama he'd missed out on in his absence. "Though it's close. Do a liver biopsy. When the results come back we'll know what we're looking at. "

"Why wait to treat the Hep-C?" Chase asked. "We know he's got it. If it's the overall cause, Joey gets better that much faster."

"Right," House said. "Then he gets to go testify and you get a gold star from Cuddy."

"Then what's the downside?" Chase asked. "Or is that the downside?"

"Do I need a reason for not wanting you to get any stars?" House asked. He got three confused glares for his trouble. He was disappointed. He thought at least Foreman would catch why he didn't want to tell mobster Bill why his brother was being treated for an STD. "Fine, start the treatment. It's all your idea. Don't even mention my name. There's nothing wrong with your theory, go." They all rose from their seats. "But in the "humor me" department, Foreman, get a biopsy."

Foreman and Chase went together to see Joey. Chase waited until Foreman got the sample he needed and was on his way to the lab before he started his own work. And when he told Bill what his brother had, and especially how he may have gotten it, he was glad he'd waited. He wouldn't have wanted anyone witnessing that scene. Verbal barbs he could take easily enough now, but physical attack was different. It took a lot for Chase not to punch the mobster back, even without Foreman or House there to snicker.

On his way to the lab, Foreman passed Cuddy's office. A moment later, Vogler stepped out and caught up with him.

"Is that for the federal case?" Vogler asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "How's that going?"

"We've identified a chronic condition and started treatment," Foreman said professionally. "But we're still looking for an explanation for the acute onset. Sorry, Mr. Vogler, but that's really all I can say."

"I understand," Vogler said. "I suppose that means he's not going to be checking out any time soon, though."

"Doesn't look like it," Foreman agreed.

"It's just such a drain," Vogler sighed. "Especially considering how many cases Diagnostics even covers."

"We may not take on much," Foreman said. "But the patients we do take on would die without us."

"Maybe," Vogler said. "But if your team is the last resort, do you really think it makes sense to dedicate so many regular funds to it? I mean, it seems all I hear around here is what an asset House is. But if he's such a whiz-kid, why does he need three other doctors working for him? And for what, one case a week? Don't any of you ever consider moving on to something, I don't know, more challenging?"

"Working for House is a challenge," Foreman said cautiously.

"I'm sure that's a fact," Vogler laughed. "Well, anyway, you've got a case now, so enjoy it while it lasts, huh? I'll let you get back to work." He turned around and headed back to Cuddy's office, leaving Foreman frowning in the halls behind him.

Meanwhile, House was dealing with one of the most irritating forces in his world: a repeat clinic patient. A teenager was fretting over his baby brother, who had managed to shove yet another object up his nose. Last time it was a toy cop.

"Ah, this is all my fault," the boy, Henry, moaned. "Last week I showed him a magic trick…"

"Pulled a quarter out of his nose," House guessed. "It's a classic." He was about to pull out the offending object when another big brother, Bill, stormed in.

"Dr. House," the mobster snarled.

"Got a crisis here!" House said. He pulled his hand away as the squirming and screaming toddler tried to bite him.

"Stop!" Bill said firmly, pointing at the baby. The kid froze immediately and House was able to pull a small plastic firefighter out of his nose.

"That's a neat trick," House complimented.

"They have to believe you'll really hurt them," Bill said. House took it under advisement and led Bill back to his office so they could talk privately. "Your people insulted my brother," Bill complained.

"What, they put romano in the parmesan cheese shaker again?" House asked.

"Said he was a crack-head or a homo or something," Bill snapped.

"Those idiots," House said. Chase must really be off his game; he was usually much better at handling patients with discretion. "How many times am I going to have to send them through sensitivity training? Nobody's saying he's a homo; that would be really, really bad. So let's put a nice, friendly spin on it. Let's go with: he got raped in prison. I saw the jailhouse tats, put it together with the blood tests…"

"There were rumors," Bill admitted. "But Joey never said anything about…. If people find out he's being treated for Hep-C… Feds get that chart, someone says something to somebody. Word will get out. And then Joey's manhood, his rep, is destroyed."

Eventually House was able to appeal to Bill's sense of mafia honor. They let Chase treat for Hep-C, but dummied up a phony record calling it a poisoning. Later that evening, as they were heading home, House and Wilson found a surprise waiting in House's parking space.

"I'm serious," Wilson was too busy lecturing to notice at first. "Cuddy's secretary has been to the photocopier all day with your records. It's all they're looking at in there. All day today and yesterday."

"My car has been stolen," House exclaimed. Wilson frowned at the subject change until he realized, yes, House's car was missing. But something else had been left in it's place.

"Or rein-CAR-nated," Wilson said as he stared dumbly at the 1965 red Corvette in House's parking space. He picked up a piece of paper stuck in the windshield wiper, a pink slip. "A gift from the Arnello brothers."

"You know, they're gangsters, sure, but they're thoughtful, too," House grinned and ran his hands over his prize.

"You can't keep it," Wilson said. "It's a graft."

"No, no, no, no," House objected. "Uh-uh. Graft is if I tell them I'll only make it better if he slips me a couple bucks. A payoff for something I'm not supposed to do. If I'd asked for the payoff (which I didn't), I would have done the bad thing anyway. So there's nothing wrong with this."

"Right," Wilson drawled. But he couldn't help imagining riding in this thing himself. He'd have to get House to drive him around more now.

"Damn," House said reverently. "'65. Perfectly restored. What do you think a guy like Joey would do if someone turned down a gift? That's kind of an insult, isn't it?"

"He might hurt you," Wilson smiled. "It's definitely possible."

"I'm screwed," House shrugged. "Gotta take the car."

The next day, Chase's mood had not improved. He was sitting in House's office with a progress report on Joey's treatment. His glare hadn't let up since he deliberately messed up House's coffee earlier that morning. House finally caved and asked what his problem was.

"I find out the brother's sick, try to fix it, and I get smacked," Chase complained. "You lie and falsify documents, and you get a car. How is that fair?"

"If you like, I'll give you a ride home today," House offered smugly. Hell, he'd give Vogler a ride if the man would take it. Anything to show off his new toy. "Besides, your treatment isn't working. Hep-C is under control, but the liver's still deteriorating.

Chase nodded ruefully. Through the glass he saw Foreman and Cameron come back from into the conference room, hopefully with indicative test results. He got up from his chair to join them, but stopped when something familiar caught his eye. Sitting on House's desk was an open dictionary of American Sign Language. Chase picked it up and laughed.

"What is this?" he asked.

"I'm learning any swear words you might try to slip by me," House shrugged. "If you ever work up the guts call me an ass, I want to know."

"House, I'm Australian," Chase said. He signed as he spoke, and House watched with fascination. "The sign language I use is called Auslan. American Sign Language is different." House's face fell, but Chase was grinning brightly for the first time in weeks. "No worries. I'm taking a class on ASL soon. Just in case." He tapped the book. "You want to tag along?"

"You are so much more trouble than you're worth," House grumbled and tried to slam the book shut on Chase's fingers.

Chase entered the conference room feeling much better. He got House and himself two fresh cups of coffee, correctly prepared this time, and sat down ready to work.

"All right," Chase said. "If it's not the Hep-C, what's causing the liver failure? Foreman, did the biopsy show anything?" Foreman shook his head, but House already had a new theory.

"Finding number two," he said. "Toxins."

"No," Cameron scoffed. "He's only 30 years old and his job doesn't expose him to heavy metals or environmental – "

"He's a 30-year-old mobster," House said. "He doesn't have a job that results in accidental exposure to toxins; he has a job that results in intentional exposure to toxins. Someone's poisoned him. So you all need to go find out which poison it is before whoever it was succeeds in killing him."

The three of them filed out, but Chase hung back. He's asked Cameron about the tension between her and House the day before. She got upset and muttered something about how people don't respect her and House didn't even like her. Chase tried to comfort her, assured her that he respected her and House didn't like anybody, but somehow he suspected her problem had a lot more to do with the latter than the former.

"Did you need something else?" House demanded when he saw Chase hesitating. "You test for poisons in the blood. First, get a needle and…"

"So, you don't like Cameron, eh?" Chase interrupted. House snapped his mouth shut and glared. Chase smirked, waggled his eyebrows once, and went to catch up with his co-workers.


	11. Chapter 11

The first massive set of tests was set running in the lab. With nothing to do but wait, the team congregated outside of Joey's room, along with the Feds.

"Whatever this toxin is, it's doing its job and fast," House said. "How long do we have until the next round of test results?

"About four hours," Chase said apologetically.

"Too bad his liver's only going to last another two," Foreman snapped.

"We're going to have to get him a new one," Cameron said.

"What, in two hours?" Chase said doubtfully.

"There is another way," House mused. Foreman and Cameron looked at him nervously, wondering if this was becoming another Carly. "Relax, it's kosher."

Within forty-five minutes, Joey was in an OR. He had tubes running out of his arms and into a large pot-belly pig.

"This is so bizarre," Bill said. He ran his hands through his hair.

"Not really," Chase shrugged. "We just take the blood out of Joey's body and run it through a pig. The pig's liver does what Joey's can't, cleans the blood, which we send right back to him."

"And the pig makes him better?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No," Chase said, a bit more sympathetically. Bill was starting to seem less and less like a Goodfella and more like a guy who was scared for his kid brother. "This just buys us some time to figure out what's poisoning him."

"So, like, you do this all the time?" Bill asked.

"Oh, we've basically got a barn in the basement," Chase said. No reason he couldn't be supportive and amuse himself at the same time.

Cameron was in the lab trying to stay on top of all the tests. So far none of the usual poisons were panning out. She tossed the latest results aside in frustration. The next set wouldn't be ready for hours. So instead, she ran the latest blood sample for progress.

"Excuse me?" She looked up and saw Vogler standing in the doorway. "I was hoping I'd find one of you here. Did I hear right? You've got the mobster hooked up to a pig."

"It's actually very affective," Cameron said bashfully. "Hopefully it'll keep us from having to find him a new liver."

"Two transplants in a row," Vogler said. "Yeah, you definitely want to avoid that if you can."

"We do whatever the patient needs," Cameron said.

"Absolutely," Vogler agreed. "And this guy sure needed more than we thought, huh? The Feds are upping his security in case someone tries to poison him again! You know, he's 30 years old, doesn't work with heavy metals. Most people would have ruled poison out, don't you think? But the guy's a mobster! Really, it's so obvious. Did you figure that one out?"

Cameron shrugged and forced a smile. She checked on her blood work and tried to appear busy, hoping Vogler would take the hint and leave.

"And now this pig thing," Vogler sighed. "Whose idea was that one?"

"It really is a group effort," Cameron insisted.

"Oh, I'm sure," Vogler said. He looked around the lab and shook his head. "Although, with so many of you to do his bidding, I did wonder just how much effort House actually puts in. But maybe I was wrong, huh? Looks like he's solving this one single-handed. Just needs someone else to fetch and carry his tests. Well, anyway, good luck with that."

Cameron was left alone and confused in the lab. When her blood-work finished, the announcing buzzer startled her so badly she jumped. The urge to be back with her team and doing her part to work this out hit her so strong she grabbed the results without looking them over and ran back up to Diagnostics.

"Anything?" House demanded after everyone had a chance to look over the latest tests.

"White blood count's low," Foreman observed. "But that's probably a result of the illness. Nothing connected to the liver."

"Is he a smoker?" House asked.

"Let me check," Cameron reached for the history they'd been provided. But House didn't want to wait, so he put up a chest x-ray that he'd had taken.

"Early signs of emphysema; he's been smoking at least a dozen years," he announced.

"18," Cameron agreed rather sullenly. "You got that from the white count?"

"Nope, got that from the chest x-ray," House said. "White count just tells me he's quitting."

"Two weeks ago," Cameron said. House glanced at the document over her shoulder and then left. Cameron sighed heavily.

It turned out, Joey's imminent problem stemmed from a bad reaction. There was an herb in the candy he'd been using to quit smoking that reduced his white blood count. He'd been eating so much he'd managed to poison himself. It wouldn't have been a big issue, except Joey also had hepatitis. The Interferon used to treat his illness combined with the Chai Hu herb made for a wicked brew. Fortunately, he was now off both and would fully recover. Unfortunately, the pig would not.

House informed Wilson of his latest stroke of brilliance as the tore down the road in his new car. He was multi-boasting, a honed skill. But Wilson's reaction was much less satisfying than he'd hoped for.

"So, the mobster's good to go?" he asked.

"I'll keep him over night," House said. "Then let the Feds know he's good to rat out whoever he wants."

"You should let Vogler tell the Feds," Wilson said.

"Why?" House scoffed.

"Because it matters to him," Wilson said. "Because you humiliated him the first time Joey was released." He listened to the roaring engine and glanced at the dash. "You think you should still be in third there, ace?"

"He humiliated himself," House said and ignored the comment on his driving.

"And because your job depends on the kind of mood Vogler's in at the end of his marathon with Cuddy," Wilson continued. He gripped the door handle. "Seriously, man, have you ever driven an automobile before? There are four gears, you know."

"The '66 came with a Shut Up button," House snapped.

Still, he followed Wilson's advice and let Vogler call the US Attorney. He even wore a lab coat for the occasion. Cuddy was gratified – until he let slip the cover-up of Joey's Hep-C. It would have been the picture of skilled diplomacy, but Joey had to go and ruin it by falling back into a coma. It was back to the white board.

"He's stable," Chase said. "But comatose again."

"Worse this time," Foreman added. "He's on a ventilator."

"Question is, why?" House said. "It's not his brain, it's not a toxin. Our friend Babe helped with that one. So what else?"

"Could be the Hep-C," Chase said. "We never finished treating it. The Interferon was stopped when his liver started to go."

"His chronic Hep-C was not bad enough to produce these symptoms," House insisted.

"The estrogen level indicates it is," Foreman disagreed.

"We can't give him Interferon now anyway," Cameron said. "There's still traces of the lozenges in his system. It'll just poison him again."

"Genetics," Chase piped up. He had the look on his face that he got when he was being wild or clever. House liked that look. He was constantly trying to provoke it out of Chase more often, but taunting didn't work with Chase the way it did with the others.

"You think this was inherited?" Foreman scoffed.

"Not him, the virus," Chase said. "We change it. A non-nucleoside allosteric inhibitor."

"It's never been tried on a human being," Foremon objected. "It could kill him."

"What's the difference?" Chase asked. "He's dead without it too."

"They're running a trial on dogs at St. Sebastians in Philadelphia," Foreman said reluctantly.

"Make the call," House ordered. The three Fellows got up to make arrangements. House frowned; he wasn't satisfied without a full answer. "What else could cause his estrogen level to be that high?"

"Nothing," Cameron said. They left House staring at the whiteboard shaking his head. Wrong answer.

The mystery of Joey's intermittent coma had to wait, however, when Henry returned with his baby brother.

"Maybe there's nothing up there," Henry said. He was struggling to hold onto the crying toddler. "I watched him like a hawk."

"Pretty sure you didn't," House said.

"I didn't let him play with any more little toys," Henry insisted.

"Thus forcing him to shove a big one up there," House said. The baby was thrashing about now. Maybe Bill's advice was worth taking. "Stop or I snap your nose off!" The kid stopped, again, and House was able to pull out a small mental fire truck. House put it down next to the collected metal cop and firefighter.

"He's not too smart," Henry said regretfully.

"Genetics is a powerful force," House said. "On the other hand, maybe he's smarter than you think." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a long narrow instrument with a magnet on the end. "Always wanted to use one of these. Tilt his head back."

Henry reluctantly obeyed. House inserted the magnet and pulled out a metal cat from deep within the little brother's nose. The toddler glowed with relief.

"Nice grasp of concepts, relationships," House grinned. "Very smart. Very cool. First the policeman, fireman, fire truck. Your brother was sending in teams to save the cat."

"Wow."

"Sometimes the simplest answer…" House trailed off into an idea. He knew what was wrong with Joey! He just hoped he didn't get slapped like Chase did.

House tracked down Bill and a Federal Marshall with questionable ethics. Apparently Bill paid him off to smuggle a steak in for Joey. Unfortunately, Joey had a genetic disorder called Ornithine Transcarbamylase Deficiency.

"That's it?" Bill said hopefully. "He stays off the red meat and he's going to be fine?"

"If I'm right, and we stop the current treatment, he gets better," House said. "If we stop the current treatment and I'm wrong, he dies."

"Why would you be wrong?" Bill asked.

"His estrogen level," House said. He led Bill to sit in the waiting room where there was more privacy. "OTD doesn't explain his estrogen level. But I have a theory. There is one chemical that, if ingested, can cause a person's estrogen level to increase dramatically."

"What is it?"

"It's called estrogen." House braced for impact.

"Joey's taking estrogen?" Bill said. "What, he wants a sex change?"

"No, nothing like that," House said. "It's called Male Flame. It's probably more consumer friendly in the original Chinese. It's an herbal aphrodisiac marketed to gay men. And sold on the same website that sells his Chai Hu lozenges. Guess what's in it? Starts with an "e"."

"You want to get hit, too?" Bill raised his hand.

"That would be quite a trick," House said. "'He slapped me so hard his brother turned straight.' Joey's a big-time mobster. Guys like that don't get raped in prison. They get gifts, they get food, drugs, cigarettes, cable TV…"

"Joey isn't gay," Bill insisted. But he had to sit down beside House.

"Well, maybe not gay, but certainly delightful," House said. "You, on the other hand, hitting a doctor, even if it was only Chase… and asking another one to keep his chart fresh and homo-free. Well, that's a bit of an overreaction, wouldn't you say? It's almost like you're scared that it might be true." Bill shook his head. "Okay. Then don't stop the treatment. But if you're wrong, he dies."

Bill may have been a homophobic mobster, but he was also a big brother. He stopped the treatment. Joey woke up and Bill gave his blessing for him to enter the Witness Protection program; off to be an out-and-proud gay man, if House was right about his motives. Chase was in the room giving a few more instructions on what Joey could and could not eat once he was discharged. When the Feds arrived to pick him up, Vogler was with them.

"Dr. Chase," he said. "Could I have a moment?"

Half an hour later, Chase barged into the conference room. He threw open the door so hard the glass rattled. Foreman, Cameron, and House had all been relaxing, just unwinding until it was time to go home, and wondering where Chase had disappeared to. Everyone jumped when they saw their resident pacifist looking to wring someone's neck.

"You bastard," Chase snarled. House glanced around and pointed to himself uncertainly. "I suppose I should have expected this from you," Chase sneered. "Are you really such a coward you couldn't even tell me yourself?"

"Chase, calm down," Cameron gasped.

"What's going on?" Foreman demanded. "What's your problem?"

"You at least going to tell them?" Chase said, jerking his head toward his teammates, still seated around the table. House was standing now, emphasizing his superior height, but Chase wasn't intimidated. "Or do you need someone else to run interference for that too? How about Cuddy this time?"

"I'd be happy to tell them anything," House said. "If I had a clue what the hell you're rambling about."

"Don't you dare give me that shit!" Chase snapped. "Everyone knows Vogler's trying to phase out Diagnostics. I guess I was the obvious choice, huh? What, only one disabled body per department, is that it?"

"Vogler's trying to get rid of me," House said. "Why do you assume you're getting fired? Guilty conscience?"

"Because you already did it!" Chase shouted.

"What?"

"Mr. Vogler just informed me that attempting to rehabilitate a deaf Intensivist is not the best use of this hospital's resources," Chase sneered. "He's going to speak to Dr. Cuddy about terminating my contract and wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make the transition easier for me as I search for a new career."

House gripped his cane until his knuckles went from red to white, trying to hide his alarm. How had Vogler found out about Chase's condition? But surely Cuddy wouldn't go along with this. She wouldn't let Vogler persecute an employee just to get to House. Then again, $100 million dollars made for a strong argument. Damn it! What the hell was the point of getting all that money if the guy holding the strings barely let them use what they already had?

"Chase," House said. He held out both hands palms out defensively. "I swear to you, Vogler didn't hear anything from me."

"So Dr. Wilson told him?" Chase challenged. "Or Dr. Monroe? He knows I have Otosclerosis. I sure as hell didn't say anything, to anyone! So who else knew my diagnosis?"

"Chase, it wasn't me!" House insisted. Wilson wouldn't do this, he knew. And Monroe was too far removed from the situation to risk violating confidentiality. But there were two other people in the hospital who, even if they weren't supposed to know the exact diagnosis, did know Chase was losing his hearing. House glared past Chase at his other fellows who were avoiding the scene in front of them as best they could. Someone's head was going to roll for this.


	12. Chapter 12

Chase was inconsolable. No matter what House said, he couldn't convince him that someone else had spilled the beans. Cameron and Foreman both tried half-heartedly to calm or comfort him, but a few menacing glares and snarls from House quickly sent them packing.

Chase wanted to go home too, but House forced him to wait in his office until he cooled off so they could figure out what was going on. He was a moment away from calling an orderly and having the boy sedated, when Chase stopped pacing and collapsed into a chair. House waited for a second, watching, until he was sure exhaustion would make Chase stay put. Then he called Wilson and told him to get up there.

Wilson ran up, anticipating the worst. He'd rarely heard House so angry, almost worried even, and he was sure Vogler tried something. "What's the matter?" he asked when House met him near the glass door.

"Someone rolled over on Chase," House whispered, gesturing to the deflated Aussie. "Vogler's trying to make me fire him."

"What?" Wilson was aghast. "Can he do that?"

"He is doing it," Chase said miserably. He glanced over his shoulder toward the older doctors. "You really didn't tell him? I wouldn't blame you." House's eyebrows practically hit his hairline and he scoffed loudly. "Well, okay, I'll be furious, but I guess I can sort of understand. You've got your own job to think about, right?"

"I wouldn't tell that son of a bitch if his shoes were on fire and he was about to walk through a puddle of gasoline," House said. "And you can cut the Christian forgiveness, 'let him without sin cast the first stone' crap too. Whoever tattled didn't just screw you over; this is a shot against me too."

"Yeah," Wilson said. "Not to mention a cowardly one. I mean, if they ratted out House directly at least they'd have actual illegal activity to point to." House scowled, but shrugged just the same. "Going after you is just a cheap shot. You haven't done anything wrong. But what is Vogler thinking? You can't fire someone for a disability they don't even have yet. Cuddy's never going to go for this."

"Sure she will," Chase disagreed. "Pardon the Christian reference, but sacrificial lamb, isn't it? Let Vogler get rid of me; she gets to keep House. You're the one she wants, the one she needs. Hell, maybe she's the one who told."

"No way," House said.

"Come on, Chase, you know she wouldn't do that," Wilson said. "You're just upset. But don't worry. This'll work out."

"We'll find out what the deal is first thing tomorrow," House said. "Just remember, you work for me until I say otherwise. Don't go slacking off tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure," Chase sighed. He got up and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I'm going home now."

Wilson offered to drive him and, after a lot of nudging from Wilson, so did House. Chase turned them both down. But he regretted his choice when he returned to his dark, empty, quiet apartment with nothing to do but think. He opened the fridge and closed it again no less than five times before deciding once and for all that he wasn't hungry. He collapsed on the couch and picked up the remote. Nothing appealing on the telly either, but he left it on with the volume turned up just for the noise.

Out of control was the worst feeling in the world for Chase. He hated it more than anything and went to great lengths to avoid it. It was why he didn't argue with House until he knew he had something substantial and almost never fought back when his boss picked on him. He'd learned long ago to pick his battles, and trying to change House's behavior was futile. Besides, once he accepted House for what he was, he actually found his boss very funny. And arguing with him usually seemed pointless to Chase. Of course House knew what he was doing! Chase wouldn't have taken the job if he thought he'd be under some clueless blowhard. If people felt that made him weak or sycophantic somehow, so be it. Chase knew who he was. He was a survivor. For example, he was on his way to being the first doctor to fulfill a contract under Dr. House. All his comparable predecessors had quit or transferred within a year.

Except now he wouldn't be. Because Chase was about to get fired, and the situation was totally out of his control. He couldn't stop Vogler's vendetta against House. He couldn't make House try to get along with Vogler. He couldn't make Cuddy see what Vogler's money was really costing the hospital. He couldn't even make his colleagues respect his privacy anymore. And he couldn't stop himself from going deaf.

Ultimately, there was only one move left for Chase to make, and somehow this choice didn't make him feel any better. He reached to the side table and picked up his phone. He spoke briefly to the international operator and waited for the familiar accent on the other end.

"Hi, Dad."

Even though he was not able to force his company on Chase – something Wilson still felt uneasy about given the kid's state – he wasn't about to let House out of his sight. He climbed into the '65 without waiting to be asked and suggested they stop for Chinese. They got back to House's place and opened the cartons, but House just sat at his piano bench twirling the chopsticks in his fingers. He wasn't going to relax until he solved this thing, so Wilson resigned himself and opened the conversation.

"So, any idea who did it?" he asked.

"Three," House said. Wilson smirked when House finally took a bite of pork fried rice. "First, and hopefully correct, is that Vogler got a bit too zealous in his investigation and snooped around in Chase's records on his own. Probably Cameron's and Foreman's too. Can't get rid of me, so he's gunning for them, and Chase seemed like an easy target."

"And the other two suspects?"

"Cameron or Foreman," House said. He was angry, but resigned to the fact that things were about to get ugly in his happy home.

"I can't believe either one of them would do this," Wilson said. "It's so low."

"Wilson, I wore a lab coat," House retorted. "Vogler's got us all doing things we normally wouldn't ever consider doing."

"What are you going to do about it?" Wilson asked.

"I don't know," House shook his head. But one thing was certain: he wasn't losing his Intensivist to Vogler without a fight.

The next morning House dragged Chase straight to Cuddy's office. She didn't look annoyed or surprised by the interruption, so they both knew Vogler had already spoken to her. She did, however, look very uncomfortable and maybe even a little guilty so that gave House hope.

"Where's Ed?" House growled.

"All right, just relax," Cuddy said. She pressed the intercom to speak to her secretary. "Could you please have Mr. Vogler join us? Thank you." She looked at Chase pityingly. "Clearly, we all need to talk about this. I want to assure you both that nothing has been finalized."

She wanted to talk about final? Chase was staying until House was good and ready to let him go, that was final! And House was about to tell her that, but a tap on the doorframe interrupted him.

"Did you need something, Dr. Cuddy?" Vogler asked. He smiled broadly at Chase and House. "Oh, I see."

"What the hell makes you think you can fire one of my employees?" House demanded.

"Well, of course, that's up to Dr. Cuddy as well," Vogler said.

"That's up to me!" House snapped. "I hold his contract."

"Dr. House," Chase tried to intervene.

"Shut up, Chase!" House barked. Chase rolled his eyes and sat heavily on Cuddy's sofa. This was about House right now. They'd get around to him eventually.

"Your department isn't pulling its weight, Dr. House," Vogler said. "Something's got to change."

"Something has already changed," House said. He glanced accusingly at Cuddy. "And not for the better. So what do you want? Bigger case load?"

"To start with," Vogler nodded.

"We want six more clinic hours a week out of you and your team," Cuddy said.

"I bet you loved saying that, didn't you?" House said.

"Even so," Vogler said. "Diagnostic's current performance does not warrant a four doctor staff. Someone's got to go."

"And that someone is me?" Chase interrupted again. "Why?"

"Dr. Chase," Cuddy said. She got out of her chair and came around to lean back against her desk. "I realize this is a delicate subject, but I have to ask. Is it true that you're…losing your hearing?"

"Why would you say that?" Chase asked.

Cuddy shifted from one foot to the other. House sat down in the chair across from Chase and leaned back comfortably. He hadn't expected this to be enjoyable, but seeing Cuddy put on the spot, and by Chase of all people, was rather amusing.

"Dr. Chase, I need an answer," Cuddy insisted.

"No, you don't," Chase refused. "Because it's none of your business, at least not yet. But since that hasn't stopped anyone else yet," he glanced significantly at House, who made a face at him. "Yes. There is a good chance I'll be deaf within a year or so."

"We are sorry to hear that, Dr. Chase," Vogler said. "But you have to admit, it does make you the obvious choice."

"I'm potentially disabled, so I'm dispensable?" Chase said. "Have you seen who I work for?" House and Cuddy both snickered. "In any case, I'm not deaf yet. You have no grounds to fire me."

"This isn't about competence," Vogler said. "This is about what the hospital can afford."

"And how is it that the hospital suddenly can't afford the programs it's been supporting for years without you and you millions?" Chase snapped.

House would have jumped up and cheered if he could. He'd been planning to rage at Cuddy and Vogler himself, with Chase as a visual aid, but Chase's own righteous-but-controlled anger was so much more affective.

"Look, I'm not here to beg for my job," Chase said. "Actually, I'm looking for some time off."

"What?" House squawked.

"Medical leave," Chase said. "A few weeks, at least. I'm going to Australia." House thought fast; maybe he could work with this. "There's a specialist there, Dr. Kenneth Noel, who's agreed to see me. If he can help me find a way to correct my hearing, the choice won't be quite so obvious."

"Dr. Chase, you know I'd be more than happy to give you all the time you need," Cuddy said. "But first, I think we need to settle this."

"No, no, no, no, no" House disagreed. "Don't you see? This is perfect!" Everyone stared at him with knitted eyebrows. House stood up and started pacing. "You think I only need two doctors. I say I need all three. This is our chance to find out. We send Chase to Oz for a month so the Wizard can give him some ears. And in the mean time my department runs sans Intensivist. See how it works out. When Chase comes back, if you still want me to fire someone, we can talk about it then."

Everyone systematically made eye contact with everyone else in the room. Chase held his breath.

"That sounds reasonable to me," Cuddy said eagerly.

"I think it sounds like a waste of time," Vogler grumbled. "And how do we know you won't deliberately tank just so you can keep your staff?"

"Because almost every patient we take is life-or-death," Chase said. "He's not going to let someone die to prove that I'm helpful."

"Besides, my malpractice insurance is high enough as it is," House agreed.

They negotiated for a while longer. Finally, Vogler agreed to House's experiment, as long as the team accepted a 5 pay-cut. House was suspicious of how easily Vogler rolled over, but Cuddy was relieved and it did buy him at least a month so he accepted. He and Chase left Cuddy's office and headed up to their own.

"So, when are you leaving?" House asked.

"My plane leaves Friday night," Chase said as they stepped into the elevator. "So I'll finish the week." He turned to House with a smirk. "So, who you going to get to do your six extra hours while I'm gone?"

"Depends on which one is still here," House said.

"But I thought we just decided…" Chase frowned.

"You might be seeing a new face when you get home," House said menacingly. "Or at least a very unhappy old one."

Chase's eyes widened. He crossed his arms and leaned in closer. "It really wasn't you, was it?"

"No!" House yelled. "For the love of God, man, how many times do I have to say it?"

"Sorry," Chase shrugged. "Guess it was easier thinking it was you. You had a reason, you know? Your job's at risk; everyone knows it. But I guess Cameron and Foreman have the same reason now, don't they?"

"Would you have ratted me out?" House asked.

"If I was going to lose my job?" Chase asked. He stared at the glowing numbers, thinking. "Probably."

House scowled, taken aback by Chase's confession and his candor. What a thing to say! He must still think his job wouldn't be here for him when he got back.

"May have then anyway," Chase whispered, more to himself than to House. But it wasn't quiet enough to keep House from catching it. After all, he wasn't the one going deaf. The elevator stopped, but House wasn't finished with the conversation so he hit the door-close button.

"Then?" he repeated. "That implies change. What about now?"

"Now," Chase sighed. "Now, if I can depend on you to stand by me like you just did then…Well, then I guess it would have been a mistake."

House nodded with a satisfied leer. But they'd been talking too long and the elevator started moving again, summoned to a higher floor. House cursed and Chase laughed, grateful for the distraction. They had to ride it up to the fourth floor and then back down again.

AN: I usually hate these things, but I'm just so curious about reader perception this time. Who do you all think did it? And why? And what will happen to them? Let's see who thinks like I do.


	13. Chapter 13

Cameron and Foreman were both in the conference room when Chase and House got back. Foreman had a medical journal out and Cameron was by the coffee machine. They were so desperately pretending to be occupied; it had to be torture wondering what had happened.

"No new case yet," House announced. "Go find something productive to do. Like your six extra clinic hours from now on, for example."

"What?" Cameron blinked back and forth between Chase and House.

"And while you're at it, one of you can add mine on and the other can take Chase's," House said. He took his own seat and kicked a foot up onto the table.

"Why can't Chase do his own hours?" Foreman said.

"Because Chase is abandoning us," House said. Cameron looked distraught, until House added, "For a month. So you two are picking up the slack."

"A month," Foreman repeated. "You get suspended or something?"

"I'm going home for a while," Chase said. House raised an eyebrow; in all the time he'd known Chase, he'd never referred to Australia as home before. That seemed strange all of a sudden. "There's a specialist out of Sydney…" he trailed off with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, that's great!" Cameron said optimistically. "And, it's only for a month, right? So Vogler isn't…"

"I'm not fired," Chase said. "Yet."

"Yet?" Foreman repeated.

"There's still a chance that one of you will be leaving soon," House said. "And even so, your salaries are getting cut 5 in the next quarter." Foreman and Cameron both started to object. "Hey, take it or leave now!" House snapped. "This is the best we're going to get. So, if you're going to complain go do it somewhere else."

"I'm going down to ICU," Chase announced. "I'll try to finish out all my clinic hours before I go."

"What about mine?" House called after him, but Chase just kept walking. "Ingrate."

Chase made himself scarce for the next couple days. He'd stop by the office once in the morning and once again after lunch to see if they had any case prospects. When there was nothing, he'd retreat to ICU or the clinic. That was the thing about Chase; he always had an escape route. Foreman couldn't really go up to Neurology and offer his services; those cases were too personal and long-term. And as an Immunologist, Cameron had even less options. So they were both stuck around the office, giving House ample opportunity to observe, analyze, and pick a suspect.

By Friday afternoon, he'd made up his mind. Perfect timing, too, because Chase was going home to pack at 4:00 so he could make his 9:00 flight. Then he was on a plane for over fifteen hours. House's leg throbbed just thinking about it.

"What do you mean you're not flying first class?" House had ranted when he found Chase's ticket poking out of his messenger bag. "You're going all the way to Australia in coach? You're supposed to be rich! What the hell are you doing?"

"My Dad's rich," Chase corrected. "And seeing as how I may not have a job for while, I thought I'd best economize." He laughed at House's revolted expression. "Oh relax, will you? I'm going in business class. I'm not suicidal."

Chase's prepare-for-the-worst attitude was really grating on House's nerves. Hopefully this Dr. Neil would be able to help Chase and end this defeatism. In the meantime, House was that much more determined to find the rat and get Vogler off his team's ass. It would be worth keeping Chase around just to prove he could.

"Guess I better get going," Chase said around 3:45 Friday afternoon. The team was gathered in House's office to see him off. Wilson and Cuddy had both stopped by earlier in the day to wish him luck. "I'm just going to go clear out my locker."

"Do I have a number where I can reach you?" House asked, rifling through the papers on his desk to find it.

"I called your cell earlier," Chase said. "My contact info's on your voicemail."

"Good luck, Chase," Cameron smiled.

"Safe flight," Foreman added.

Chase nodded and waved. Once he was gone, House decided this was the time to confront his suspect. But first he had to get rid of the other one.

"Cameron," he said. "Go down to the clinic, make sure Chase and my hours are covered for while he's gone."

That would keep her busy for a while. Scheduling for the next month, negotiating with the Nurse Brenda, and she'd probably get roped into seeing a few patients. He had at least an hour or two to obtain a confession.

"I wonder if it would be cheating if I did call Chase," House mused before Foreman could leave too. "Technically, we're supposed to see how the department functions without him. But if we needed him…"

"I'm sure we can get on fine without Chase for a while," Foreman said. "Besides, even if it is cheating, since when do you care?"

"You're right," House said. "I'll just use my cell phone so they don't find out. I wonder if you can call collect internationally." Foreman rolled his eyes. "Of course, I wouldn't have to do that if Chase wasn't bailing."

"He's getting help," Foreman said. "That's a good thing. Maybe it'll work."

"That would kind of screw things up for you, though, wouldn't it?" House said lightly.

"Me? Why would I care if…" Foreman trailed off. His eyes popped and he jerked his head around in outrage. "You think I told about Chase?"

"You're at the top of the list," House said.

"Why, because I knew he had a hearing problem?" Foreman stood in front of House's desk with his hands on his hips. "He screamed it out in the middle of the MRI lab. Anyone could have heard him."

"No, actually, the only people who heard were you, me, Wilson and Cameron," House disagreed. "Now, I didn't say anything. And Wilson didn't say anything."

"So why aren't you interrogating Cameron?" Foreman snapped. "She's in love with you, not Chase. She'd totally give him up to help you."

"Except, losing Chase doesn't really help me," House said. "It helps one of you two."

"Still!" Foreman threw up his hands.

"Nooo," House drawled. "I'm still thinking you."

"House, I've barely even seen Vogler since I found out Chase," Foreman said. "He's holed up in Cuddy's office most of the time, and we had our meeting before I even knew Chase had an ulcer, let alone Otosclerosis."

"How did you know that?" House demanded sharply. He'd just gotten his perfect affirmation, but instead of the usual feeling of triumph, he was enraged. Maybe part of him had hoped to be wrong.

"What?" Foreman took a step back. "He told us, House! We've been over this."

"He told us he was going deaf," House corrected. "He never said why. Not to you. So how did you know he has Otosclerosis?"

The seconds ticked by as Foreman scrambled for an explanation. Finally, he tucked in his lips, folded his arms, and lifted his chin defiantly. "I did what I thought I had to do," he said.

"Jesus!" House exclaimed. He came around his desk to tower over Foreman, even leaning heavily forward on his cane. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Me?" Foreman scoffed.

"All that crap you sling at me about respecting medical ethics, Hippocratic Oath, patient rights," House sneered. "It's an even bigger load of crap coming from you than it usually is." Foreman was fuming, almost as outraged as his boss. "You pretend to care about patients because once upon a time someone told you a good doctor is supposed to care. You're so caught up in your own act; it lets you feel superior to other doctors who don't put on such a good show. But you're a self-serving asshole just like the rest of us. Only difference is you don't have the balls to own up to it."

"What is the big deal?" Foreman demanded. "With Vogler around everyone in Diagnostics is at risk. He was going to make you let one of us go regardless, right? It should be Chase! Look, I'm sorry for him, okay? I really am! But it's not like I'm the one making him go deaf. And the bottom line is he can't keep working here if he can't hear!"

"Oh, how the hell would you know?" House shouted.

"How can he?" Foreman shouted back. "Especially as an Intensivist. How is he going to take a patient history if they can't communicate with him? How can he react fast enough to resuscitate someone if he can't hear the alarms? Hell, how is he supposed to diagnose anyone if he can't even listen to a damn cough?"

"Those are Chase's questions to answer!" House said. "Maybe mine. Not yours."

Actually, House had been looking into those questions for a while now. In fact, Chase still had many options even if he did lose his hearing. It would take some adapting, but Chase could still be a doctor. They had a national association for people like him, for God's sake!

"Whatever," Foreman scoffed. "I just didn't see why Cameron or I should have to pay the price for you to play with Chase a little longer when we all know he's going to have to leave sooner or later."

"Were you this stupid when I hired you?" House said. "Or is this a new development? Cause I really hate to think that this idiocy somehow escaped my notice."

"Oh, come on, you know I'm right," Foreman said.

"Don't you know what you've done you moron?" House screamed. "You revealed confidential medical information about Chase without permission or medical cause. Information that almost cost him his job. You're not Chase's doctor. Vogler sure as hell isn't! Neither one of you had any right to even know about Chase's condition, let alone use it against him! And since I know Chase never told you about his Otosclerosis specifically, you must have accessed Monroe's records to find it. Just so you could rat him out. You violated HIPAA and probably a dozen other legal and ethical standards. You could lose your license! Not to mention your shirt if Chase decides to sue your ass."

Foreman's arms dropped to his sides. He looked ill, a little shaky even. House glowered down at him, completely unsympathetic and patently satisfied by Foreman's squirming.

"Okay," Foreman murmured. "How do I fix this?"

"Oh, we're way past that," House said. "Sorry! You're screwed."

"Now, hang on," Foreman said. "You already found a way around Vogler. Does Chase really need to know?"

"Are you kidding?" House said. "We've all gotten our salaries cut. Chase is practically on probation for no reason at all, other than your big mouth. Vogler's even further up my ass than ever. And you expect me to cover your ass? You made this mess; not me."

"Oh, come on!" Foreman argued. "You've broken the rules more times than I'll bet even you remember. How is this any different?"

"Because I'm not the one who did it," House said. "And I don't use my curiosity to betray the people I'm curious about."

"Give me a break," Foreman snapped. "If Chase were in my position, he would have done the exact same thing."

"He was in your position, and no, he wouldn't," House said, even more up in Foreman's face. "If Chase had decided to fight dirty for his job, he'd have had the balls to go after me. At least he's smart enough to protect himself. Vogler's not going to protect you for this. And, what, did you think that I wouldn't find out? That it wouldn't matter to me? I should fire you right now."

"With Chase leaving for a month?" Foreman challenged. "And no guarantee that this specialist is even going to be able to do anything for him? Not unless you're planning to completely re-staff the department."

"You think you're so irreplaceable?" House sneered. "Sorry to wake you up from your American dream, but the underprivileged Black kid struggling and persevering his way to the top has become pretty cliché. What makes you think you're so much more valuable than Chase?"

"If none of this was happening, who would you have fired?" Foreman asked.

"You think my answer should be Chase," House interpreted. "Even if he wasn't going deaf? So basically your argument up until now has been crap. So what is it then, the money? You resent it, but you're going to tell me he doesn't need the job."

"He doesn't appreciate the job," Foreman said. "He wants it, but he doesn't appreciate it. There's nothing wrong with just wanting to hang out, but this is not the place to do it."

"You think Chase doesn't do as much around here as you?" House scoffed.

"Just because he sucks up and does your clinic hours more, doesn't mean he works harder," Foreman said.

"So when was the last time you went up to Neurology to lend a hand?" House said. "Or are you that guy I see sitting around in here all day reading magazines?"

Foreman didn't bother pointing out that those 'magazines' were relevant medical journals. He knew House wouldn't care.

"Should we pull out the case files," House suggested. "See whose contributions have yielded the best results?"

"He doesn't give a crap about the patients," Foreman argued.

"We've already established that neither do you!" House retorted. "And he's pretty damn good at hiding it, considering his patient reviews are the highest of any of you. So as long as the patient gets what they need from him, and he gets what he needs from them, which is usually the case, I don't really give a damn if he cracks a couple of jokes later on."

"Fine!" Foreman shouted. "Chase is a saint. He's perfect. So, what now? You going to assign one of us to follow him around and examine his patients for him? Mandatory sign language classes?"

"Actually, I'm already pretty good at reading lips, thanks," Chase announced loudly from the conference room. "Not that I need to with the way you two have been carrying on." Foreman and House stared at Chase through the glass partition, both absolutely horrified. Chase picked up his book of New York Times crosswords and waved it at them. "Long flight, you know? Didn't want to leave it."

House cursed his own impatience. He should have waited until Monday to do this, when he was sure Chase was good and gone. He'd never meant for the kid to hear all that crap! Foreman was gaping like a freshly caught fish flapping around on deck.

"How long have you been there?" House asked.

"Long enough," Chase said. He avoided even glancing at Foreman, but watched House bashfully. "Thanks."

"Chase," Foreman stammered. "I…I didn't mean…"

"Yes you did," Chase disagreed.

"No, Chase, really," Foreman pleaded. "I'm sorry."

"Rubbish," Chase spat. His accent was the thickest House had ever heard it, straight from the Outback. "But, as much as I'd love to listen to you yabber a bit more, I've got a plane to catch. Talk when I get back, yeah?" He picked up his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. "See you in a month."

Chase strode out with as much dignity as he could muster. Inside the elevator, and fortunately alone, he collapsed against the wall and brushed impatiently at his eyes.

After Chase left, House and Foreman remained frozen to the spot for a minute or two, going over the argument Chase had never been meant to hear. Foreman's stomach lurched on his own angry words. He recalled House's warning about how he could lose his license, and more, if Chase took legal action against him. With Chase gone for a month, left alone to stew and build a grudge, how was he ever going to make this right? House would be of no assistance, he knew. He was glaring at him with open disgust. And he could just imagine how Cameron would look at him when she heard what he'd done. But it had seemed like such a perfect solution at the time, the best thing for everyone.

"Get out of my sight," House spat.

Foreman flinched, but at least he wasn't fired yet. He slumped out of the office without any further argument.


	14. Chapter 14

Chase's plane had a layover in San Francisco and then it was straight on to Sydney. It would already be Sunday when he arrived. He'd spend that day getting over the jetlag, maybe make a few calls to old friends to kill off Monday, and then on Tuesday he had his appointment with Dr. Noel. His father had pulled a lot of strings to set that up, but for once Chase didn't resent it.

The flight was lonely. It was the off-season and business class was almost empty. The smattering of other passengers was trying to sleep. Chase stared out the window at the dark clouds beneath the plane and pictured the inky ocean miles below. Suddenly, a hand with pink fingernails was tapping him on the shoulder and startling him so badly his skin rippled.

"I said, would you like a drink?" the flight attendant asked softly.

"No," Chase shook his head. "Thank you. Well…maybe some water?"

"Coming up," she smiled.

Chase leaned back in his seat and wondered if he really hadn't heard her or if he'd just been distracted. By the time the attendant returned with his water, he'd fallen asleep.

When he arrived at Sydney Airport, he was startled to spot his father waiting impatiently at the entrance to the terminal. He was glaring back and forth between the security guard and the flight board. He didn't see Chase until a woman on a cell barreled into him and knocked over his suitcase. Rowan looked for the source of the commotion and smiled broadly when he saw his son. He jogged over to help him pick his things up, since the woman hadn't even slowed down, but Chase waved him off.

"I've got it," he said.

"Are you sure?" Rowan asked. "You've had a long flight and you look exhausted. Didn't you sleep at all?"

"I'm sure," Chase insisted. He picked up his bag with one hand and, after some hesitation on both parts, awkwardly hugged his father with the other arm. "I didn't think you'd be here. I was going to catch a cab, call you when I got settled."

"You made a reservation?" Rowan frowned.

"At the Radisson," Chase nodded.

"Robert, that's ridiculous," Rowan scolded. "You're going to be here for weeks and you haven't been home in ages. You'll stay with me."

It wasn't completely unexpected, but Chase was still unsettled by the offer. He'd only been to his father's house a handful of times after his parents' divorce. Faced with prospect of spending the better part of a month there, he'd really rather put out the funds for a hotel. But he could hardly tell his father that, especially after all the trouble he'd gone to. So he just nodded, tried to put on a grateful smile, and followed Rowan out to his car.

Rowan's large house was over an hour outside the main city, and fifteen minutes later father and son were still stuck in mid-city traffic. Chase leaned against the window; this was going to be a long and uncomfortable drive. He tried to get distracted by reorienting himself with the Australian rules of the road. It took a few blocks for him to get used to driving on the left side of the road and he was impatient at every red light when he felt they could have been turning right if in New Jersey. But once they got onto open road, there were no more distractions.

"So," Rowan said. He kept his eyes firmly on the road and both hands on the wheel. "How far has it progressed?"

"I can still answer you even though you're not looking at me," Chase said a bit petulantly. Rowan glanced at him admonishingly. "It's between ten and twenty percent. Tinnitus is getting to be more constant, a bit more distracting. Nothing disabling yet, though."

"Well, I suppose that's something to be grateful for," Rowan said a bit too cheerfully. Chase didn't bother to correct him, but he knew it was actually bad news. His hearing loss was progressing more rapidly. He might lose as much as another ten percent by the time he left Australia, unless Dr. Noel could help him. "So, have you made any other plans while you're here?"

"Not yet," Chase said. "It was kind of last minute." He paused and turned to look at his father's profile. Sometimes he wished that he'd taken more after his father than his mother. His mother was beautiful, but his father was always very distinguished looking, much more desirable in Chase's opinion.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For doing all this." Rowan glanced over and smiled broadly with surprised pleasure. Chase shifted in his seat. "I really don't want to lose my job."

"You'll find a way to make things work, Robert," Rowan said. "You always do. Besides, Dr. Noel has a very high success rate. Would you like me to go with you on Tuesday?"

"Uh, no," Chase said with a nervous chuckle. "I think I can manage. Besides, I'm sure you're busy. I don't want to put you out."

"Not busy," Rowan shook his head. "Hardly. I'm retiring." Chase jerked around so fast his seatbelt caught him painfully in the crook of his neck. He stared at his father with open astonishment. Rowan Chase retiring? Impossible!

"Since when?" Chase asked.

"Oh, it's been in the works for a while," Rowan shrugged. "Technically, it won't come through for another couple of months, but I'm using my stockpile of vacation time to fill the gap." He glanced back at Chase and smiled. "So, I have plenty of free time and only you to fill it with. I'm glad you didn't wait to come home."

"Yeah," Chase murmured uncertainly.

This was too strange for him to deal with on top of everything else. As a child, he'd given up very early on catching his father's notice. Now that he had it, Chase didn't know what to do with it. He felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny and attention. Well, be careful what you wish for, he supposed.

They pulled up to Rowan's house. It was more of a manor, really, and a tribute to his father's Czech heritage. His father had taught him to speak his native language when he was little, but he'd stopped using it even before the divorce. He wondered how much he'd actually remember now. The house had three levels, not including the basement, made of solid stone. There were two balconies, over a dozen rooms, and his father lived alone, except for a staff of two. House's snippy assumptions aside, Chase didn't have a stepmother. Rowan was about as devout a Catholic as his son now was, but he never remarried after the divorce.

Chase followed his father into the house and up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. It took him a moment to recognize it as the same room he'd stayed in a few times when he was a kid. Most of the rest of the house had been redecorated to some extent over the years, but this room was untouched.

"You're probably tired," Rowan said. "Why don't you get some sleep? We'll have dinner later."

"Okay," Chase nodded and put his bag down at the foot of the bed. He heard his father close the door behind him. He toed off his shoes, climbed on top of the covers, and the let the jetlag chase his thoughts away.

Back in the states, the Diagnostics department was already feeling the heat. Mostly because House was doing his best to condemn Foreman to the depths of Hell. Since Foreman was the one who deemed Chase unnecessary, House decided he should pick up the slack while he was gone. So Foreman's breaks were generously granted to Cameron while he was banished to the clinic or labs. Heaven help him if House caught him without a task. Cameron watched with a frown and nagged House about his unreasonable behavior, telling him they were all stressed enough without him taking it out on Foreman. House wondered if she would defend him as readily if she knew what he'd done, but he didn't tell her. Because while he held that ace in the hole, Foreman didn't dare complain, at least not as loudly as he normally would.

On Monday, it got even worse. House was so unbearable that Foreman gave up, threw quite a tantrum, and went home early. When he stepped through his door there was a message already waiting on his machine. He winced when House's voice filled his condo, informing him that if he wasn't in at least an hour early the next morning he'd better not come in ever again. Foreman sank down on the bed and finally resigned himself to a month of misery. He could tough it out that long, but if Chase still was forced to leave after this experiment was over, Foreman knew that he'd be leaving too.

In Australia, it was Tuesday, and Chase was sitting at the table across from his father over breakfast. It was even more uncomfortable than the other meals they'd shared over the past two days. Today neither of them could even managed to catch-up small talk they'd been stretching as much as possible. Chase was barely eating at all, just pushing his sausages around the plate.

"Robert, you're going in for an ear exam, not surgery," Rowan said. "You're allowed to eat." Chase chuckled a bit and took a bite obligingly. "You're sure you don't want me to come along? I could drive you."

"Dad," Chase said gently. "You being there won't change the outcome. Either he can save my hearing, or he can't."

"I suppose," Rowan nodded. They ate in silence for a few minutes more. Rowan wiped his mouth with his napkin and folded his hands on the table. "Did you pray last night?" he asked.

Chase nearly choked on his eggs. "Excuse me?" he exclaimed.

"I was just curious," Rowan explained. "You used to say your prayers every night. I didn't know how much you'd kept up with it after you left the Seminary."

"I…pray," Chase admitted. "Sometimes."

"When was the last time you went to church?" Rowan asked.

"When were you?" Chase challenged.

"It's not an accusation, Robert," Rowan said with both hands held out. "As for me, I hadn't been in years." He'd stopped attending church regularly after his divorce. After that, he only went to confession after he'd heard that Chase gave up the Seminary in favor of medicine. "But I've started going again recently." Chase frowned but nodded. Something about this didn't sit well with his already troubled stomach. "What about you? Are you going to answer my question?"

"I don't attend much," Chase shrugged. "I'll stop in to hear mass sometimes, usually on holidays, but other than that…"

"Cafeteria Catholics," Rowan smirked. "That's what they call us, isn't it?"

"Cheers," Chase raised his glass of orange juice and polished off the last of it. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin as he stood and picked up his dishes. "I'd better get going," he said. "Do you know the number for a cab here?"

"Come on," Rowan said. He picked up his own plate and took Chase's out of his hand to carry both into the kitchen. "I'm going to drive you." Chase started to object, but Rowan held up his hand. "You don't want to be late, and I still have a parking space."

"All right," Chase conceded. He put on his jacket and followed his father out to the garage. "Thanks."

The two of them split up once the reached the hospital. Chase went to his appointment and Rowan used the time to go clear out some remaining items in his old office. As soon as Chase gave his name to the receptionist she was all smiles – apparently his father was still popular among his colleagues – and she sent him right in.

"You must be Robert Chase," Dr. Noel stood up and offered his hand when he came into the office. Chase nodded and shook his hand. "So, your father tells me you're an intensivist?"

"That's right," Chase said.

"Not an easy field to adapt to if your hearing loss is total," Noel said bluntly. "But it's not impossible either."

"Well, my primary is in vascular surgery," Chase said hopefully. "Even if I can't stay in the ICU…"

"You certainly wouldn't be the first deaf doctor practice medicine," Noel agreed. "You just need to be prepared to make a lot of changes, if you have to. Now, your audiologist sent faxed me your most recent results, but I'd like to run a fresh set. Otosclerosis can progress very rapidly in some cases."

Chase spent the next couple hours going through tests. Even as they were happening, he was gauging his own results as best he could and not liking what he found. He hoped it was just his pessimism showing again, but when he recognized the expression on Dr. Noel's face once they were back in the office he knew it wasn't.

"You've lost another few percentage points," Noel said, handing Chase the results to examine for himself. Chase sighed and closed his eyes. "Depending on how it progresses, you may have some options."

"Stapedectomy," Chase nodded.

"Hopefully," Noel agreed. "Although, that's not my primary concern. The real danger is that the bone growth could damage your auditory nerve. In that case, a hearing aid might be helpful, but if the damage is too severe your deafness will be total and irreversible."

"When will I know?" Chase asked. "I mean, how long do you think?"

"We're looking at within a few months," Noel said gently. "When do you go back to the United States?"

"Three weeks," Chase said.

"I want you to schedule another appointment before you leave," Noel said. "I'll have a better idea of your progression then and we can discuss treatment options. There are several excellent surgeons in the US. I'll make a few calls."

"Thank you very much," Chase said. They shook hands again and Chase went to schedule his appointment.

"All right, Dr. Chase, we'll see you then," the receptionist smiled. "Oh, by the way," she added gently. "You're staying with your father?"

"Yes," Chase nodded.

"Yeah," she nodded sympathetically. "How's he doing?"

"He's…fine," Chase said. "He's doing well."

"Oh, that's good to hear," she said. "Tell him we're all thinking about him."

"I'll do that," Chase said slowly. He stepped out into the corridor and paused to consider the woman's words. He replayed the conversations he'd had with his father since he'd arrived. The unexpected visit… Chase's brow sank into a frown and he went to find his dad.


	15. Chapter 15

In the states, House was starting to regret agreeing to Chase's brilliant plan

In the states, House was starting to regret agreeing to Chase's brilliant plan. True, he'd planned on a bit of malingering in order to convince the powers that be to stay out of his department, but things were quickly getting out of hand. Foreman was still sulking at the perceived injustice of House's behavior, so much so that Cameron was getting suspicious. Cuddy was under mounting pressure from the board to appease Vogler and secure the hundred million. Even Wilson's support was starting to waver; Vogler had been asking a few too many questions about the Oncology department.

There'd been a chance to fix everything, or so everyone thought. After getting House to take on a Congressman as a patient, Vogler got the idea to make House give a speech at an event praising his pharmaceutical advancements. It was hard to get House to agree at all, but when Vogler mentioned that he would be glad to welcome Dr. Chase back 'provided Dr. Noel is successful, of course,' everything went to hell. Now, after being humiliated in front of his peers with House's cold hard facts about pharmaceutical politics, Vogler was demanding House's resignation.

Fortunately, Cuddy was holding him off. She stood by their deal; House's actions may have been inappropriate, but they were not in violation of the original agreement, or even out of character. Vogler shouldn't have asked him to speak without knowing what he was going to say.

Unfortunately, others were not so forgiving, particularly Wilson and Cameron. After the speech, Wilson chewed House out as never before, questioning their entire friendship. They hadn't spoken since, and House was facing the uncomfortable reality of being the lonely, miserable man with no friends that he pretended to be, only now without the safety net of his devoted sidekick. It didn't help matters that Cameron also had decided to take offense at House's apparent disregard. She surprised him with a letter of resignation, stating that she would remain only until Chase returned.

When Chase asked his father about the nurse's odd comment Rowan passed it off as concern that he might not be adjusting well to retired life. Chase was not eager to make waves in the tenuous peace he and his father had now so he let it go. The next few days were filled with nostalgic outings and day trips to visit old haunts and friends. Rowan accompanied Chase a couple of times, if he wasn't going anywhere far, but most of the time Chase was left to explore on his own.

A little over a week into his visit, Chase came back from the Museum of Contemporary Art laden with gifts of a bizarre and beautiful nature for the folks back home. He even brought home a book for his father about the newest exhibit. It was a hyperrealist sculptor named Ron Muek. Chase bought three copies of the book: one for his dad, one for himself, and one for House although he hadn't decided yet if he'd actually have the guts to offer his boss a present.

"Dad?" Chase called as he jogged up to his room to put his bags away. "Are you home? I brought you something."

He placed his packages on the full-size bed and started to repack them into his suitcase. There was room now, since he'd finally unpacked his clothes the other day. He'd buy a duffel bag later to hold his clothes so the gifts could be shipped undamaged in the sturdier luggage.

It felt strange though, finally filling the closet and drawers. After the divorce, Rowan announced that this was Robert's new bedroom, but with his mother's bitterness and his father's busy schedule Chase rarely got the chance to use it. Even after his mother's death, Chase boarded at his parochial school and only spent the occasional holiday with Rowan. Those were awkward visits, when they weren't cut short or cancelled altogether. They just confirmed Chase's feeling that he didn't quite fit into his father's life. Even 'his' bedroom was a bit too sophisticated for a teenage boy to be comfortable in. Although now as an adult Chase realized Rowan had made an honest effort. The fabrics were all green, which was Chase's favorite color, and the music stand in the corner was always dusted, even though it served no purpose when Chase wasn't there to use it.

To this day, Chase still played violin, piano, and even dabbled in guitar. Damned if he'd let anyone know it though; he knew House was also musically inclined and if Foreman ever found out…But Chase didn't want to think about Foreman. Instead he ran his fingers over the old crinkling sheet music still folded on the stand and remembered how Rowan used to make him play during the dinner parties his mother held before the drinking got too bad. Oh, that was embarrassing! And terrifying, because Chase knew how disappointed Rowan would have been if his son made a mistake in front of his peers. But, Chase thought, Rowan also must have been at least a little bit proud of him to take the risk. Chase had always performed perfectly, and then promptly fled to his room to bury his blushing face deep in his pillows.

"Dad?" Chase called out again with a smile on his face. "Did you hear me?"

He walked downstairs to Rowan's study, pressed one ear to the door, and knocked. There was no sound from the other side. Chase eased to door open and peeked inside. Empty. Maybe he was resting; he had been sleeping a lot. Probably out of boredom. Chase could not imagine his father adjusting well to retirement.

Chase carefully tiptoed back upstairs and through the halls toward his father's rooms. He opened the door slowly until he could make out Rowan's shape under the covers. He was snoring softly – wheezing, more like – and actually didn't sound very good.

"Dad," Chase whispered. He reached for his shoulder, perhaps to shake him, but pulled back. If Rowan was sick he probably needed the rest. Instead he tucked the blanket in a bit. He could go downstairs and see if his father's housekeeper was cooking this evening. If she weren't then Chase would put something together. Come to think of it though, his father hadn't been eating much these past few days. Perhaps he was taking something that upset his stomach. With that in mind, Chase slipped into the master bathroom to check the medicine cabinet. If Rowan was on something that didn't agree with food very well, something lighter for dinner was probably…

Erlotinib.

That label printed so neatly on the bottle sitting on the center shelf stopped Chase's musings as effectively as a fist to the solar plexus. He stepped back, started to close the cabinet door, but at the last moment he snatched the bottle up. It was a refill, already half empty. The pills inside were jumping about and when Chase realized it was because his wrists were trembling he dropped the bottle with a crash. He couldn't say how long he stood there, but suddenly he was being shaken and turned by the shoulders.

Robert? Robert? Chase could see very well that his father was speaking his name, but he couldn't hear him. It was as though someone was holding a conch shell to each of his ears. He shook his head and slammed his fists against his ears. Rowan pulled him out of the bathroom and sat him down in a large armchair beside the built-in bookshelves that lined a full wall of the bedroom.

They sat and waited until suddenly Chase realized he was once again aware of the ever-present rumbling of the air-conditioner and the ticking clocks scattered about the room. It was the first time his hearing had failed him so completely, intermittent though it was. He knew these attacks would only come on more frequently now, lasting longer and longer each time, until his hearing never came back at all.

"Robert?" Rowan murmured softly. He'd probably been doing that this w hole time, testing to see if his son's hearing had come back. He sighed and gripped his hands together with relief when his call caught Chase's attention. "Oh, good. Has it passed then?" Chase nodded. "You're not straining at all? Any ringing in either ear?" Chase shook his head. "Good, good. Well then, I suppose we'd better talk this out."

"Oh, you think so?" Chase guffawed. He stood up and started pacing in short uneven bursts. "Personally, I think last month might have been better! Don't tell me you didn't know! I saw the date on the bottle."

"I never intended to lie, Robert," Rowan said. He also rose to his feet and blocked Chase's path to make him still. "Not now, and not then either. Now be reasonable; given the circumstances it was hardly the right time…"

"The right time!" Chase interrupted. "When do you suppose the right time would have been? I've been here over a week and you haven't said a word! Were you just going to let me go back to America, maybe have a postcard waiting for me when I got there? Or maybe you were going to spring it on me before I could get on the plane. Is that what this whole thing was about?"

"Now, you stop right there!" Rowan shook his finger. "This was about you. You're the one who wouldn't face up to your own condition. You're the one who wouldn't take proper care of yourself. I have never been the one to needing my own son to trail along after me and holding me together." Chase stepped back, out of range, as though his father had struck him, or perhaps to stop himself from striking his father. Rowan sighed and scrubbed his palms over his face. "I'm sorry. That was…I didn't mean it. But I didn't trick you into coming home to take care of me either! All I wanted was to help you how I could, while I could. And I suppose I wanted to spend a little time with you as well. Is that really so unforgivable?"

Chase was staring at the floor, letting his floppy hair shield his eyes. It waved like the bristles in a carwash when he shook his head.

"Good," Rowan sighed. "Okay, good."

"But I'm going to anyway," Chase announced.

"Going to what?"

"Going to stay, of course, what do you think? That I'm going to jump on a plane and fly to other side of the globe knowing you might be dead by the time I get there?"

"Robert, don't be ridiculous," Rowan blustered. He took up Chase's pacing. "Look, the truth is I'm losing weight. I'm tired. My pain is up. I'll probably be in hospital by the time you're ready to go. You don't want to stay just for that."

"What are you going to do? Kick me out?" Chase challenged. "I'm not going anywhere."

"What about your job?" Rowan demanded. "Damned fellowship meant so much to you. Are you just going to throw it all away?"

"I'm not leaving," Chase said softly. And that was that.


End file.
